I'm out of town for work, which is why this update is coming in a little late. It's a little longer than usual, so I hope that makes up for it!
Kieran is no stranger to awkward, whether it was caused by her or not. John seems like he's out of practice. Maybe it had to do with his stint in Antarctica. Penguins don't seem like the greatest conversationalists, though Kieran doesn't want to make any assumptions. But as dinner winds down John finds his rhythm, steering the conversation away from the depressing and awkward lulls in the conversation.
That easy rhythm comes to an abrupt stop as he tells her to have a good night and walks off. Kieran watches as he lurches in his tracks and turns around, his face in one of those pinched mouth expressions someone makes only when they're embarrassed and desperately trying not to show it.
"I almost forgot," he says sheepishly, holding out a watch and an earwig headset. "You'll need these. We don't really need phones here, and we've just got wi-fi working so email's a thing but we don't have Internet Internet so comms it is."
"Thanks?" Kieran puts the watch in her pocket. Figuring out how to fit the earwig in is pretty intuitive, and when she taps it, the crackle of static makes her twitch because she definitely did not jump.
"You're not senior level personnel, so you don't need to have it on you all the time. If there's an emergency, you'll need to have it on but that's not—it's not super often."
"'Not super often,'" Kieran repeats. "That definitely sounds like a strong endorsement and definitely what I want to hear."
John raises an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn't comment. "Comm etiquette is pretty easy. Just say your name and who you're speaking to. Like if I was trying to comm you, I'd say 'Sheppard to Amamiya.'"
"And I'd say it in reverse if I was trying to contact you," Kieran says. "That's pretty straightforward."
"Yeah," John says. "That's basically it. We do want to bring you in for another check up tomorrow, but I figure you'd want some time to unpack. Brighten up the place."
Kieran nods. "The white IKEA furniture isn't really my style, but I'll figure something out." She doesn't both to hold back the yawn that bubbles up and out.
John winces. "Wiped?"
"Totally," Kieran says. "I'm not looking forward to all the unpacking I have to do tomorrow." She pumps a fist, as sarcastically as she can muster. "G'night."
"Waitonemorething—" John rocks back on his heels. "Before I forget. I get up pretty early, but if you want we could grab breakfast together. Then we can go to the infirmary together. If you want."
"Thanks, but uh—I kind of wanted to grab breakfast on my own. As a test run kind of thing. I can't drag you away every time I want to grab something to eat. I'd feel bad. Better to jump into the deep end now then later, right?"
They share exhales of relief. When John says his final good night and practically speed walks away. Kieran almost walks face-first into the door before she just remembers to wave her hand in front of the sensor.
As the door whooshes shut, Kieran steps into a room that's bigger than her old room back in Colorado—definitely bigger than her dorm room in Tokyo. Bigger than the attic Ren stayed during his probation. There's the essentials: a bed, a dresser, a desk—hell, she even has her own bathroom. But it's empty. The walls are blank steel, and the setting sun burns the room scarlet and amber. Her stuff is piled in the middle, untouched and unopened since she beamed down from the Daedalus.
Kieran groans, tossing her jacket in the direction of her bed and stumbling into the bathroom. Thankfully, the Ancients made their sinks, showers, and toilets about as intuitive as the ones on Earth—more or less. It took some trial and error, but ultimately she didn't need to make any awkward phone calls (radio calls?) asking how to flush the toilet.
Her reflection is absolutely haggard. She doesn't just feel tired—anyone could see it plainly on her face. She stopped bothering with concealer, because she was past the point of caring about the bags under her eyes and acne scars dotting her jawline and her cheeks.
Her brown eyes stare back at her, and once again the pale reminder of her mom is brought to the forefront. Both her mom and John have dark hair, so that resemblance could go to either one of them. If anything, it's Ren that looks more like John with his perpetually messy hair and gray eyes. Funny how genetics works.
If there's anything she wants to do, it's cry. She can just do that in the shower.
When Kieran wakes up the next morning, she's pleasantly surprised by how her back doesn't snap crackle pop like it has for the past three weeks she spent aboard the Daedalus. Perks of finally having a mattress that's more than cardboard on springs.
The city of Atlantis feels like Colorado in the early spring, so she's doesn't feel out of places wearing her favorite outfit—layering up like an onion. She's past the point of feeling awkward about whatever she happens to be wearing in a sea of uniforms. She already knows she's going to look incredibly out of place no matter what. They're adults and gossip travels fast. It's not her problem. Even if she doesn't feel awkward about it, she can rely on everyone else giving her a wide conversational berth.
They give her a pretty polite physical berth too.
Aside from some tentative smiles she got, no one went out of their way to interact with her, which was fine with Kieran.
Super-hearing is not something Kieran was ever gifted with. Just imagining the gossip and the rumors that must be flying around Atlantis is driving her up the wall. If she could confirm that people were talking about her as much as she thinks they are, she'd probably lose what's left of her marbles.
That's assuming she hasn't already lost all of her marbles. The weirdness level of her life hit exponential levels last year. She's not sure how moving to another galaxy ranks compared to casual teenage vigilantism. Maybe she can rub two marbles together and find out.
"Amamiya to Sheppard. I finished with breakfast."
Her ear crackles. "Copy that," John says. "Do you want me to come get you or do you want to just meet me in the infirmary?"
Kieran overthinks it, which seems to be her specialty nowadays. She doesn't have a problem asking for help; it just leaves a bad taste in her mouth when she has to ask an adult. Makes her stomach flip-flop. It didn't start out like that. Sure, her grandparents were okay, but Amamiya "family friends" were generally pretty awful. Stick. Elektra. Where do they keep finding these people? Her mom was trustworthy. Kieran could always trust her mom.
Well. Until she couldn't anymore.
"Kieran? Earth to Kieran?"
"Huh? Oh. I'm good with just meeting you there."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." Kieran nods before she remembers John can't see her. "I'm sure."
"Alright. If you're sure. We're going to be meeting Dr. Beckett." She tries not to think about all the skepticism leaking through his voice. "I'll see you in a bit."
Kieran huffs to herself as she heads to a transporter. She remembers seeing people with yellow paneling on their uniforms—medical personnel—heading in the same direction. Plus, it makes the most amount of sense for the infirmary to be located near the gate room. The number of times an "unscheduled offworld activation" happened at the SGC was usually followed by people rushing to the infirmary.
She has a good idea of which level it's on. Now she just needs to narrow down where exactly.
Kieran passes by a couple people. It's not crowded like it was at the residential pier, so there's fewer people to see her double back and forth like a confused duckling. Eventually she finds the place she's been looking for—in the loosest definition of the word. To say that she stumbled into the infirmary following the sound of dramatic shrieking would be more accurate.
Howling that grew louder as Kieran gets closer.
She has to stifle the giggle that threatens to bubble up and out. The person who did the shrieking—Rodney—is red-faced and frantic like he's on the verge of cardiac arrest. Maybe red-faced is an understatement. He's one of the most blatant victims of male-pattern balding Kieran has ever seen. His scalp is red. His ears are red.
On the other hand, the doctor has a full head full of short black hair. He's the picture of calm, aside from the exasperated knit of his brows. He's holding a box of Band-Aids and waving a few strips with his free hand. Clearing her throat, Kieran steps into the room. Both men jump, although Dr. Beckett's shoulders slump in relief as soon as he sees her.
"Kieran, aye?" The doctor steps forward, shooing Rodney away. She clocks his Scottish accent right away.
She bobs her head. "Yep. That's me." Her gaze bounces back from the scientist to the doctor. "Dr. Beckett—"
"You can call me Carson," he interrupts smoothly.
"Carson." She rocks back on her heels. "Is John here yet?"
"I'm here." John strides in, jabbing a thumb behind him. "What was McKay in for?"
"A papercut," Carson says.
"Huh."
Neither John nor Carson sound all that surprised.
"I'm guessing he does that kind of thing often," Kieran says.
"Oh yeah." John scrunches his nose. "That's Rodney McKay for you. He's on my away team and head of the science department."
"Willingly?"
John grins. "They may have been some kicking and screaming involved."
Given recent life experiences Kieran is pretty used to physicals, and to a lesser extent, psych evals. Not only is Carson efficient, but he has an arsenal of anecdotes to use. If he pities her, he doesn't look at her like a kicked puppy caught in the rain.
"Alrighty." Carson grins and snaps off his rubber gloves. "Physicals are done. All that we really need to talk about is scheduling you for weekly visits with Dr. Heightmeyer."
Ah. Kieran doesn't wince, but she can't say she's surprised either. She and mental health have had an interesting (aka antagonistic) relationship, but she can't fault them considering—
Well. There's things the SGC put on her file and there's things they don't know about.
"That's fair," Kieran says. "Cool. I'm down."
"You are?" John's eyebrows climb up his forehead. If there's anything he's good at, broadcasting his emotions is not one of them. But compared to Carson, he has his face on lockdown.
Kieran shrugs, trying not to broadcast how she probably desperately needs psychological help. Whether or not Dr. Heightmeyer is going to take Kieran at face-value is another thing. "I mean, sure? Why not? Where else am I going to get the opportunity to vent about anything ever to someone who is legally obligated not to tell anyone? Like it can't hurt so I might as well."
"Oh. Okay. Cool." John deflates a little, like he was gearing up for a fight. Or like he was preparing for her to put up a fight.
She almost wants to be offended by that, but she can't even muster the energy for that. "So what's the plan? Besides the check-ups, I mean."
"Well, we can't have you falling behind in your studies. There's no getting out of school."
Kieran snaps her fingers, her disappointment all sarcasm and no bite. "Drat."
"We can play around with the schedule and make it more of a college thing than an eight to three high school day. It doesn't seem fair if you were brought here and then forced to be in the same room for half the day when we have a whole city. Mostly. There're places that still need to be cleared—"
"John," Carson interrupts. "You're rambling."
John blinks. "Am I?"
"You are," Kieran confirms. "Does it happen often or . . . ?"
"I'm not a nervous rambler. I don't ramble when I'm nervous!"
"You are now."
"Well that's just . . . great. What I was trying to say was that a flexible schedule works in case any of your teachers need to check up on an experiment or go offworld." John groans, mostly to himself. "Do you mind if we walk and talk? I think we're basically done here, right?" Carson waves them off, walking away with a smile. "There's some other people I want you to meet. Teachers."
"Teachers? As in plural?" Kieran asks.
"A surprising number of people volunteered. Plus we looked up the graduation requirements for Colorado Springs High. If anything, I think Elizabeth said something about wanting you to take a placement exam? Since you spent a year in Tokyo. Uh, Elizabeth Weir is—"
"In charge of the expedition." Kieran smiles, but even she can tell it's not quite sincere. "Yeah, I know. I was briefed at the SGC." And she looked up Dr. Weir's Wikipedia page.
"Ah. Gotcha." John thanks Carson and motions for Kieran to follow. "Did you get to learn anything fun on the Daedalus?"
"I got to hang out in the engineering room a lot," Kieran says. "Colonel Caldwell wouldn't let me on the bridge—he's kind of an ass—"
"You were learning how the Asgard core works?" John raises his eyebrows. "Have you even taken basic physics yet? Or coding?"
"Uh—no," Kieran laughs sheepishly. "Dr. Novak was just . . . telling me how things work? I think she didn't mind the company and explaining the basics was probably a nice change of pace for her."
John winces. "And also, god forbid there's a bored teenager running around a spaceship."
"Or an unexplored city full of dangerous advanced tech?"
"That too."
"You don't have to worry about me," Kieran says. "Because I have never done anything wrong in my life. Ever."
"See, I was a teenager once," John says. "So I know that's a load of crap."
Yeah. That's fair. That's really fair.
"So who do you want me to meet? I'm assuming you're taking me somewhere specifically." She just met their Chief of Medicine. She can't imagine anyone else having a vested interest in her specifically.
John stops her in front of a door by the labs. Inside is a person slouched over a table so aggressively Kieran can practically hear his spine creak like a glowstick when he straightens up. As soon as he sees her and John, he perks up like meerkat and smiles like a boyish golden retriever. Hell, his hair is golden retriever colored.
"Hi! You must be Kieran." He bounds over, grabbing her hand and shaking it excitedly enough she could feel it in her shoulder.
"Uh, yep." Kieran blinks. "That's me."
"I'm Jonas Quinn. I'm the bulk of the expedition's linguistics department besides Dr. Weir herself. I read your file—well, the mission report. I knew your mother quite well actually. I'm sorry for your loss."
Kieran blinks again. Jonas' overall bounciness somehow isn't undercut by his condolences. The whiplash sure is . . . something. " . . . Thanks."
"I heard you got a head start on the Ancient language stuff Dr. Jackson gave you."
"You guys can bond over that linguistics nerd . . . stuff," John says.
Ah. She sees what they're doing. She can't say she doesn't appreciate it.
"Cool?" Kieran says. "I don't really have friends, so . . . cool."
Wow. That didn't come out pathetic at all. If Jonas thinks so, it definitely doesn't show on his face.
"We'll be seeing you, Jonas," John says.
"Bye Colonel!"
As soon as the door slides shut, John says, "'I don't really have friends?'"
"I mean . . . I do, because I told you about them," Kieran says. "But I can't even Skype them now, can I?"
"No," John says. "I suppose you can't."
Kieran's last meeting of the day is with none other than Dr. Elizabeth Weir, a woman who has her own Wikipedia page. Apparently, she's fluent in a dozen languages and conversational in a dozen more and brokered a million treaties. A diplomat through and through.
Kieran remembers the photo Wikipedia used for Dr. Weir, arms clasped together in front of her as she leans forward over the table. A brow is cocked, and there's a steely intensity in her blue eyes. Kieran understands why she was picked for talks in North Korea, and why she was picked to command the Atlantis expedition.
So Kieran doesn't know what to expect when she finally meets her. She doesn't appreciate John saying there's no reason to be nervous, which everyone knows is the foolproof way to give someone an anxiety attack.
Thanks John.
"Hey Elizabeth," John says from her office doorframe. "Guess who."
Dr. Weir's head snaps up from her tablet, smiling brightly. "John, Kieran! Come on in, take a seat."
Oh okay. So far so good.
"So, Kieran, how are you settling in?"
"Uh . . . fine. I think. I started unpacking last night—couldn't sleep very well." Kieran absently picks at a loose thread hanging from her jacket sleeve.
"I met up with her in the infirmary," John says. "We met with Carson and Jonas."
"Good. And you have an appointment scheduled with Dr. Heightmeyer?" Dr. Weir asks.
"In a couple days, yeah," Kieran says.
"Excellent. Now, I'm sure you can imagine that this is the boring conversation of the day."
"I'll poke you if you drift off," John says jokingly.
"I'm assuming this is about school," Kieran says in her blandest, flattest tone. "I'm so . . . excited."
"Well, we've got a few placement tests shipped in and some of our staff volunteered to teach you," Elizabeth says. "But we've got digital learning if you'd prefer to do that."
"Volunteered . . . to teach me?" Kieran repeats dumbly. "People who were recruited to be the smartest people in two galaxies are fine with just dumbing things down to the high school level?"
"I mean, they volunteered for a reason," John points out. "It's worth a shot."
Kieran grimaces. She's not sure how much she can handle of someone teaching her a concept. She's plenty self-sufficient. She could probably—
Oh. Something something socializing with different people is probably good for her something something.
Elizabeth pushes her tablet forward, gesturing for Kieran to take it. It's a schedule—different subjects split into Monday-Wednesday and Tuesday-Thursday time slots. Fridays are her day to ask specific questions. Not to mention that she could schedule appointments if she needed it. "It's a tentative schedule," Elizabeth explains. "We formatted it more like a college student's schedule since it would be more accommodating for you and your teachers. Not to mention any . . . unforeseen circumstances."
Unforeseen circumstances. Right. If Atlantis is anything like the SGC, then unforeseen circumstances is a diplomatic euphemism for shit happens. Which could either be Stargate stuff, or just . . . a really bad day. And honestly, it's a generous schedule. If Kieran wasn't much of an early riser, she could skip breakfast and wake up in solid brunch territory. She's got more than an hour break between some of her classes.
Compared to high school (in both the US and Japan), it's completely bonkers—in a good way. The idea of having a lunch period longer than half an hour could make her weep tears of joy.
"Your mental health is our first priority," Elizabeth says gently.
"Ah," Kieran says, wishing she could muster up some genuine enthusiasm. She's grateful for the therapy. She is. There's just a lot to unpack, and her stomach turns at the idea of telling someone else . . . anything. "Great."
"And there's one last thing," Elizabeth says. "I promise."
John clears his throat, grimaces awkwardly. "I'm heading through the gate tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Kieran splutters. "I—I literally just got here! I—"
"The turnaround time isn't ideal," John says apologetically. "My team hasn't been off-world in two weeks while I was waiting for the Daedalus. You. The IOA was getting on our asses about it."
Ah, bureaucratic overlords. Suddenly it's all a lot more understandable, not that Kieran has the energy to be miffed about it. "Yikes."
"Yikes," John agrees.
The rest of the day is spent walking around the city—and it really is a city, and not just a giant building. It's easy to forget that with the almost complete lack of sun. Seriously, how are people getting their vitamin D? Did the Ancients not need any?
If John has any concerns about Kieran settling in, he doesn't say them.
Plus, she has other things to worry about, but she doesn't want to think about any of it. Which is why she's in her bedroom, meticulously reorganizing her clothes and knickknacks. She's color-coordinating her t-shirts. Good god. She needs a hobby. Hobbies. Or school. Or to work out until her brain and body are just puddles of mush.
Or a nap. A nap sounds good.
What ends up actually happening is less "napping" and more "fitful-tossing-and-turning" until she figures scrolling aimlessly on her phone is a better use of time—and then she remembers that there's no Internet on Atlantis. At least not to the extent there is on Earth. There's network for people's emails and cloud storage, but there's no social media, so Kieran can't even drown herself in stupid nonsense that she doesn't actually care about.
She could wander around the city some more, but the idea of talking to more people makes her insides curdle like sour milk. Literally the idea of doing anything makes her want to shrivel up and die, but that takes too much energy so she ends up staring at the ceiling, thinking of the things she could be doing, and not doing them because she doesn't have the energy for that. Or anything, really.
Kieran has never been good at inaction or waiting. Mom always says—said—that Kieran has a control problem. It's a side effect of being an Amamiya, apparently. She always thought of it as needing a distraction, or at least a more productive use of her time. Marinating in anxiety never helps anyone. So, logically, if she could put her time and energy into doing something else like working out or studying, then it makes the thrum of anxiety into something more manageable.
Well shit. When she puts it like that, maybe she does have a problem. Maybe that's why she has no idea what to do with herself.
Everything is completely out of her control.
And she doesn't even have time to contemplate that terrifying jumble as the door chimes.
It's John, who stopped by and asked her if she's up for dinner with his team.
Dinner? Kieran checks her watch, and yeah, she had been marinating in self-loathing and anxiety for about, wow, four hours. She quietly shoves that unpleasant thought in a bulging box to save for therapy.
"Uh—" Kieran balks.
"You don't have to stay the whole time if you don't want to," John says quickly. "But I'm walking through the gate with them tomorrow morning, so I figured—" He waves his hand around vaguely. "I figured that you'd want to meet them."
"Sure." Kieran relaxes a bit. If anything, she appreciates the very clear out he gave her.
The sky is a little overcast today, muting the brilliant scarlet and golds glinting off the water. The rest of John's team is already waiting at a table, so Kieran concentrates on what three other people think of her instead of what the rest of the city thinks of her. Compartmentalization. Finally, something she's familiar with.
She recognizes Dr. Rodney McKay from earlier, except he's the color of a human person now and not a tomato. And then he turns human equivalent of a sunburn as soon as he catches sight of her and chokes on his food. His saving grace is the guy sitting next to him, whose palm smacks Dr. McKay's back with an amount of force that's both impressive and alarming considering he almost rocks face-first into the table.
"Didn't your mom ever tell you to chew your food?" John asks. The seat he takes is across from Rodney, and next to a woman who looks at the rest of her team members with what can only be described as affectionate disdain. That leaves the corner seat for Kieran, and she sits across the guy who's built like a mountain and looks just as approachable. "Kieran, you met Dr. McKay earlier. Big guy is Ronon Dex, and that's Teyla Emmagan. Guys, Kieran."
"Heeeeey." Kieran plonks down with the grace of a newborn horse. Nailed it. "What's up?" Her voice cracks like twelve-year-old boy that took a baseball bat to the groin. Double nailed it.
"How have you been settling in?" Teyla asks. "I personally found the transition a little difficult."
"Oh, I'm basically done unpacking," Kieran says through a mouthful of curry. "I gotta figure out what I'm doing with my life now."
"There's always school," John says. "But you have hobbies, right?"
"Um . . . kind of." Memorizing the random trivia her mom pushed at her seems like less of a hobby now and more like some weird survival instinct. Her survival instinct. In retrospect, it's kind of weird she wanted her teenage daughter to know the four categories of anesthesia (general, regional, sedation, and local) or the quickest way to a man's heart (through the fifth left intercostal space, midclavicular line). Wanting to keep the top spot for trivia night Wednesdays at Barry's Sports Bar and Grill seems like a flimsy pretense. In retrospect. "I do a lot of reading."
"Do you know how to fight?"
"Ronon—" John starts.
"Yeah!" Kieran says, and immediately dials back the enthusiasm and competence. "A bit. Some. Mom had me go through some self-defense stuff. Basics."
"Oh." John clears his throat. "Well then. Teyla's a good teacher. And a good sparring partner. She could show you some stuff if you're interested."
"Really?" Kieran asks excitedly. "I'm always down to learn some new stuff."
"I would be happy to teach you," Teyla says. "And I'm sure John could use a break from, ah—"
"From getting his ass kicked?" Ronon suggests a little too gleefully.
"Well—" John chokes, pounding his chest with all the frantic grace of a desperate goose. "I wasn't going to put it like that. And watch your language!"
"I'm sixteen," Kieran says. "Not six. And I've definitely said worse."
"I'm not sure that makes me feel better."
That gets bright, booming laughter at the table, and something heavy settles in Kieran's chest. Not in a bad way, like a ball of lead. Instead, it feels like a weighted blanket, warm and fuzzy and soul-buoying. She rides that feeling as long as she can, like a raft in a river. At least, up until she remembers that John gates out tomorrow morning, and the safe little raft goes down a waterfall.