A/N: Sorry for the later posting, but like I said, I need to slow down or else I'm going to catch up with myself, and I've still been under the weather so haven't gotten much writing done. Don't be surprised if the next post takes even longer. Sorry.
And I must say I am reeling over the number of those who reviewed my one shot Coloring Books. All I can say is Wow! People really liked it. And thanks for liking it and saying so.
Ch. 14
Fiel
The chimes sang for John, and he wondered if it were possible to go back in time. Or maybe everything else had been a dream, and he was only waking up just now. Except he didn't recall having something lumpy and soft pressed against his uninjured side. He pried his eyes open with more effort than what he thought was necessary, and blinked away the remnants of sleep. Light flashed off the crystal chimes and reflected rainbows along the walls and ceiling. John turned his head, wincing at the painful throbbing at the back of his skull, and angled his eyes toward his side. Ris was curled up on top of the blanket with tail and wing-tips twitching.
John pulled his arm out from beneath the covers, and winced at the secondary pain in his shoulders. He felt like someone had dislocated his arm, twisted and pulled the muscles like taffy, then stuffed everything back in haphazardly. He wasn't a stranger to these pains. Ignoring them was an act of necessity as well as spite. He raised his shaky hand enough to drop it on Ris' small body. Ris' head shot up and the glassy eyes blinked a few times before the small head settled back on the folded forearms.
John was content just to lay there. The less he moved, the less he ached, and he felt sluggish enough to sleep for a few days.
Unless he'd already been sleeping for a few days, which meant that the longer he laid around, the more his body reverted back to its original sluggish state when he'd first awoken in Maj's home. His body was in need of some further spiting. John gritted his teeth on moving his arms, and gasped on pushing himself upright. Cuts stung, his ribs pulsed and his shoulders screamed. By the time he had his back against the wall, he was panting and shivering from a fresh plastering of sweat.
" No," John gritted. He shifted his legs, the only limbs that didn't hurt, disrupting Ris and forcing the creature to uncurl and hop off the bed. John swung his legs out from under the covers and planted his feet on the cool floor. He had to pause to catch his breath and let the pains seep back into dormancy. He looked down at himself, at the over-sized shirt covering his body, and the tan pants with frayed cuffs and a leather string for a belt. He tugged on the collar of the shirt to peer inside at the bandages wrapped around his chest.
John released the collar and blew out a long breath. " I'm back to square one." He looked up, out the door, wondering if a trip down the stairs was worth the risk to discover how long he'd been out this time around. The door at the other end of the hall was ajar, and John thought he caught the movement of a shadow across the floor.
John tilted his head to one side. " Maj?" but his voice wasn't strong enough to carry even out of the room. John reached out to grip the edge of the desk and haul himself up with grimaces and a grunt of pain. He listed and leaned heavily on the desk until his sight congealed back into single vision. He took several deep, cleansing breaths, straightened, and shuffled carefully to the door. He kept to the wall, and scowled internally at the constant barrage of deja vu. Only when he stepped beyond the bathroom did it stop. He slowed when he neared the door at the end of the hall, lowered his head, and focused on listening.
John heard the soft whisper of material, and a scrape of a foot across the wooden floor.
" Maj?" John called again. He got no answer.
John shuffled closer and leaned in enough to peer with one eye through the door. Maj was sitting on the edge of a blue quilt covered bed, her hands clasped on her lap, and her gaze vacant. John's eyes took in the room, with shelves of knick-knacks from hunting knives, bones, antler bits, pottery and a single crystal wind-chime hanging in front of the window. Below the window was a desk, at the foot of the bed John saw one side of an ornate chest, and splayed on the floor was a dust-covered red animal skin.
John took a breath to call out again, but couldn't get the words passed his throat. He felt like an intruder witnessing something that was not meant to be witnessed. He cringed at the thought, and began to back away.
" It's all right, John. You can come in."
John stopped and flinched. He took the last couple of steps into the room, hesitant as a disconcerted child and still harboring the impression of being an intruder. Had the pants any pockets, he would have stuck his hands into them. Instead, he went for his back-up embarrassment action of rubbing the back of his neck.
Maj pulled her gaze from her inward musings and looked up at John with a distant smile. She patted an area of the bed beside her. " Come, sit. You made it all this way without collapsing, it would be a shame if that changed within the next few seconds."
John made his methodical way to the bed, and slowly lowered himself. Halfway down and his hand shot to his throbbing side. Maj took his other arm in both hands and helped him settle on the downy mattress. They fell into a drawn out silence chalk full of discomfort – at least for John. He was waiting for Maj's berating; teasing or serious. Maj, however, had shifted back to her internal thoughts.
John gripped the edge of the bed with both hands and leaned forward enough to study Maj's face. Moisture pooled at the edges of her glassy eyes until enough accumulated for a single tear to spill over down her face. She quickly swiped it away with the sleeve of her green sweater.
" You all right?" John asked, wondering if this was simply a trip down memory lane, or if he needed to start feeling really guilty. He looked away, down at the floor, and swallowed hard. " Guess you were right about that consequences thing. Listen, Maj, I'm really sorry..."
" Don't," Maj said. " Please don't apologize. It wasn't your fault, John. Not even close to your fault. Cruel men do cruel things... to get what they want. So you have nothing to apologize for."
The silence crept back, and once again John was the one feeling uncomfortable by it. His eyes traveled over the room, stopping on the pictures hanging on the wall across from the bed. Black and white pictures of a boy and an older man, a boy and a younger Maj. The boy – older – holding up the twisty-horned head of a deer-like animal, the boy now a young man feeding a flock of mini-iarets. The young man and several other young men posing with rifles raised, probably taken before a hunt began.
" You remind me of him."
John jolted in surprise at the sound of Maj's voice. He looked at her.
" Fiel?"
Maj nodded, and swiped at both her eyes. " Not in looks. You're taller than he was, and his hair wasn't quite the mess as yours," Maj added with a soft chuckle. " But you have the same spirit as him. Persistent to the point of being stubborn, incorrigible, brave and a little fool-hearty about it at times... and caring. Very, very caring. To a fault, almost." Maj took a deep breath and let it out sharply, tensing as though bracing for something. " He, um... he died... On another world. He died doing the right thing. There had been a raid on a village that we traded often with. We went to help them rebuild, and a small group of raiders returned in the night to take some of the women. My son and several of the men chased after them. They returned with only three of the women, and carrying my son in a litter. He was wounded, severely, attempting to stop three of the men from raping one of the women. They attacked him. His wounds became infected. I sat by his bedside, and cleaned his wounds every day. But they were too many, and I was too late. He died..."
Maj's voice hitched and she looked down, probably to hide her tears. John saw one flash from her eye to land on her hand. " He died in my arms. He was convulsing, and I didn't know what to do except hold him and comfort him until the end." She sniffed and cleared her throat, swiping both eyes a second time. " He would have been a little older than you, I think, two weeks ago. When the pass came, we would have gone to Alsterak, to the market fair there, the biggest on any of the worlds. Fiel's favorite. He always liked the food there, the candies especially." Another tear managed to escape and fall to soak into her sleeve. Then she chuckled ruefully. " You just... You remind me of him so much... Rather hard not to get attached under such circumstances. There are times when I miss him so much. So much. It hurts, sometimes. And... I like being able to see him... through you. As though a part of him still exists. Almost losing you... Ga! It was like losing him all over again."
Maj finally looked at him, tears or no tears. She smiled sadly and reached up to place her hand on John's cheek. " I like having a son again. Even if he isn't really mine." She lowered her hand, and looked away, giving John a melancholy laugh. " I'm sorry, John. I'm a lonely old woman who's quick to indulge in pathetic fantasies. But rest assured I saved you because I have a heart and not because I was looking to play mother."
John smiled, then reached out to take Maj's hand in his own. " If it's any consolation, it was nice having a mom again."
Maj gave him a wry smirk. " You mean having someone dote over you?"
John laughed, glancing down and returning his hand to rubbing the back of his neck. He hated, beyond comprehension, opening up in anyway to things he'd always considered to be nobody's damn business. People didn't need to hear his sob stories and have some reason to pity him, and John didn't want to relive them. But he couldn't sit idly by and let Maj think he was pitying her. Because he wasn't.
" My mom... died, when I was thirteen," he said. " A car wreck. Uh, kind of like those motorized vehicles you have in the city, but a little bigger. She went to get milk because we didn't have any, and knew how my dad and I hated it when we didn't have milk. She was heading home, and this drunk guy rammed into her car. We were told she died instantly. The last time I saw her, she was telling me to go do my school work then go to bed. And I did, only to wake up an hour later..." John's voice caught and he cleared his throat. He still remembered that very hour, fresh as yesterday, and the numb that had crept into his body to drown him in a dream he never woke up from. He'd simply gotten used to it until he was able to push it farther and farther from himself. He woke up into a new life the day he joined the Airforce, and it was everything in between that hovered vaguely in his memory, and might as well have been a dream.
Maj place her arm across John's shoulders. " Then I guess we both enjoy pathetic fantasies."
John shrugged and grinned. " I wouldn't call it pathetic. Maybe a little depressing if you think about it too much. But like you said, you didn't take me in so you could be a mom again, and I wasn't looking to be someone's son. You still miss your son, I still miss my mom. But families – sometimes – they just happen, blood related or not. Besides," John draped his arm around Maj's shoulders. " It was inevitable you saved me. Women can't resist my charm."
" Oh yes," Maj said, " and you were quite charming all skinny, bloody, bruised, dirt-caked and bearded as you were. My heart was all a flutter. You were lucky I saw you do a service to your fellow man, boy. Looking wretchedly pathetic doesn't cut it by itself."
" Darn. Some days it's all I got going for me."
Maj tightened her embrace around his shoulders. " You live a dangerous life, John Sheppard."
John looked beyond Maj to the window and the woods. " Don't we all?" He looked back to Maj. " I'm assuming there's nothing to be done about what Jorsek did?"
Maj took a deep breath and let it out with a slow sigh. " No. No one would believe you."
John nodded. " Because I'm an off-worlder."
" And because everyone fears Jorsek. He's the chief protector, and if you wish to stay protected, then you stay on the protector's good side. And – as you've so recently discovered for yourself..."
" He's a vicious bastard."
Maj nodded. " Right."
" And a coward," John added.
Maj nodded again but said nothing to further the point. She understood, and John had come to understand. Jorsek was a man who got his way, and half the time shed as much blood as he could to get it, because it worked.
" I still don't get one thing, though," John said. " Why does he fear you so much? I mean, no offense, but even with your nephew, you're just two people, and he's, like, a hell of a lot more."
Maj smirked a very wicked smile. " Jorsek's father is complete dung, city born and bred. But he's dead. Jorsek's mother, however, is none of those things. And she and I go waaaay back. The rest is good old paranoia. His fear of anyone who has been off world keeps him at bay, and I milk it when I can." Maj slid her arm off of John's shoulder so she could wrap her fingers around both his arms. " Come on, John. Up now." She rose first, slowly, and aided John in rising after. They moved as one, shuffling and deliberate, from Fiel's room back into the hall.
" Let me check those cuts, then I'll bring you up some supper."
" How bad is it?" John asked.
" You were near frozen to death when I found you, and lost much blood. But the cuts were shallow, and though you're bruised to be sore for a while, only one rib recracked, and the rest stayed intact as far as I could feel. You've been resting for two days."
John pursed his lips pensively. " Not too bad for being strung up. It usually ends in complete pulverization. Maybe Jorsek was being humane."
Maj shot John an odd look. John responded to it with a shake of his head. " Don't ask. You don't want to know."
SGA
Rodney McKay had always thought his propensity for being intimidating when he wanted to be came in quite handy when it needed to be. Ronon obviously didn't know this, because he was making more of an effort to physically insert himself between Rodney and the next supposed witness to Sheppard's last location rather than verbally. And for some reason, McKay kept looking to Caul for an explanation, knowing good and well the little man couldn't give one. As expected, each time, Caul's reply was an uncomfortable shrug and sorry excuse for an apologetic smile.
As though grunting and glaring are any more different then a good verbal tirade. A litany of words could be effective. They were always effective in the lab when dished out to his underlyings... for that immediate point and time. And isn't that what they were after, immediate answers?
Rodney brooded over this, staring past Caul's shoulder to burn non-existent holes in Ronon's leather jacket. Rodeny had unofficially – so much so that he hadn't even realized it had happened until two minutes ago – been hustled to the back of their little line. Thus ensuring that when confronted by a supposed witness, Ronon got to them first.
Rodney couldn't complain, because he had his tirade and either Ronon couldn't hear him, or more logically was purposefully ignoring him. What Rodney really wanted to do was complain about the futility of speaking to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that popped up giving vague info about Sheppard and expecting to be compensated for it. Except to complain about it would be admitting to the futility of the search in general, and to admit to that was to come across as though all hope was lost. But Rodney hadn't lost hope, he was simply sick of the circular monotony that was going around, flashing wanted posters, and crossing their fingers for a result. There had to be another way to go about this, some way to sift through the jam-packed cornucopia of info they kept getting. A connection, a thread they could follow that would build better answers. Something beyond going through the motions of a search and placating Caldwell with the info that wasn't doing much to placate Rodney. Caldwell was going to catch on sooner or later, and merely hinting at calling off the search would explode into a full-out order that Lorne couldn't deny.
Damn military chain of command. No wonder Sheppard has a problem with it.
The real bottom line was that they needed to just find Sheppard already.
Rodney had to wonder how many times they might have passed the Lt. Colonel already. They go one way, he goes the other, and the only thing standing between them is either a wall or a crowd. Irony could be a bitch that way.
Rodney stuffed his hands into his pockets and huffed out a breath through his nose to warm his uncomfortably dry sinuses. The chilled air was rubbing his nose raw, and he was waiting for the day when he woke up with a bloody nose. Ioth weather was horrible. All those clouds overhead with not a lick of moisture to show for it. Not even a single snowflake. Not that he wanted it to snow. Murphy's Law was being cruel enough. They didn't need images of Sheppard lying buried under a mound of snow to join forces with the images of Sheppard lying freezing to death and beaten to a bloody pulp.
Oops, too late.
They came upon yet another bar; lighted, warm, and smelling faintly of urine. They entered the partially crowded establishment growing thicker with the evening, off-work or off-begging crowd meandering in, some apparently not over their inebriation from yesterday. Despite Cauls' warnings that they stick together as best they could, the growing throng herding like cattle to the bar and tables forcefully separated them. Rodney waded through the muck of bodies with his nose scrunched and face twisted in what he hoped was a sufficient scowl.
" Ronon!" he called, pretty much screaming to be heard over the vibrating thrum of voices.
" McKay," came the bellowed response, but not from any direction McKay could discern. He made his way to the other end of the bar, then turned around and made his way back to wait by the doors where it was easier to breathe. He hated crowds. They made him claustrophobic, and the tighter the masses packed, the faster his heart raced.
When he reached the doors, he turned to lean his back against the wall by the entrance and exhaled in relief. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.
" Hey, you one of the folk looking for this Sheppard guy?"
Rodney turned to face a young man with sandy-brown hair cropped close to the scalp. McKay fixed his scowl back into place.
" Yeah. Why, you know something?"
The man didn't reply with words. His fist shot out, striking Rodney square in the face, and sending him dropping into darkness.
SGA
A/N: All hail the evil cliffie! Bow before it's might and cruelty! Boo it behind it's back! Throw rotten tomatoes! And so on. Thought I'd toss in a little McKay whump for all the McKay fans.
