The Landlord
By Rey

2. Ties That Bind

Procuring and signing non-disclosure contracts on both sides has seen me waiting for a week before I can visit Magical Munches again, let alone contemplating sharing a house with Henry Evans. But the young man – more a youth, really, a "teenager" as the Taur'i say it – did manage to convince us that he needs to protect the secrecy of his community for our sake, his and the community's alike, so I waited. And presently, I am at last visiting the establishment with O'Neill, Major Carter and Daniel Jackson again, having signed our respective contracts yesterday.

Henry Evans is already standing just outside of the parking lot, on the mouth of the lane that I know will bring visitors to the eating area. He looks both nervous and eager, openly so, and it lends him the air of a youth who is training with true weapons for the first time.

He reminds me of Rya'c and the many marks of my son's development that I missed witnessing, having been away as Apophis' First Prime – and, later, Apophis' active enemy – for so often and so long.

The juxtaposition becomes harder to ignore when Henry Evans focuses solely on me after greeting my comrades, and he leads us away – with more enthusiasm – only after I incline my head at him.

Thankfully, once we are settled in the living area of his quarters atop the establishment, Henry Evans bids us to try a "magical drink" he calls butterbeer, and I become preoccupied with the warmth and richness exuding from the beverage instead of ruminating on regrets. It helps that Major Carter soon begins to argue that there is no noticeable special effect that she can detect from the so-called magical drink, as the warmth and richness of the brew is explainable with spices and brewing technics.

Daniel Jackson's gaze meets my own, while Henry Evans patiently tells Major Carter that the difference would be much more noticeable in cold environment, and, no, he doubts that she will notice anything outwardly magical if she tests for it, even with her best equipment. It is O'Neill who speaks, however, instead of Daniel Jackson.

Intentionally aloud, at that, judging from the amusement in his eyes.

"Damn. We're losing her."

Major Carter looks as if she would dearly like to smack O'Neill's arm with her hand, like she sometimes does to Daniel Jackson.

Well, but she does reach out and smack Henry Evans' arm, when the latter snickers at her. So, apparently, she considers Henry Evans her friend, perhaps even comparable or almost comparable to Daniel Jackson, instead of merely an acquaintance.

Interesting. I wonder if I can achieve such a rapport with him, on my own. Then I will have another civilian friend out of Stargate Command aside from Krista.

A warrior-like civilian friend, perhaps, but still a civilian.

It is an encouraging thought, when one realises that one's circle of friends and family – one's conscience and support – has shrunk so much without one's awareness of such alarming development.

O-O-O-O

O'Neill regretably could not stay long, given his new status as Head of Stargate Command. He has given the current SG-1 permission to brief Henry Evans as stipulated on the contract, however, and leave for us to stay as long as we wish as long as Stargate Command does not need us and we report the "nitty-gritty details" personally and privately to him later.

Major Carter and Daniel Jackson take to the instruction with gusto. They have been describing and telling small stories about the Chappa'ai and Stargate Command, in any case, and demanding details pertaining to "magic" and the community of those who use it, all throughout the day.

I content myself with my silent observation of both Henry Evans and his home, meanwhile, and notice how unusual both the home and the owner are – more unusual than I previously noticed – the longer I observe them in close proximity.

Spacial orientation on this third level of the establishment is hard to gauge and calculate for, for one, although the alterations are subtle enough that my teammates, engrossed in questioning and answering Henry Evans, do not seem to notice. Room dimensions and distances seem ordinary until one looks closer, and return to "ordinary" once more when one no longer pays close attention to such details. This ever-shifting perception is most unnerving, in fact, and I find myself regretably hesitating on agreeing to live here when not on mission.

Henry Evans himself is… strangely familiar, the longer I stay in close proximity to him, and not only because of his eyes. The feeling of familiarity seems to increase with each morsel of food and each swallow of beverage that I partake of. However, my comrades do not seem to notice it.

I need to investigate this, as soon and as deeply as possible. Therefore, I make known my wish to stay here longer, when night deepens and my comrades excuse themselves regretfully, with promises to visit soon.

"I wish to ask my own questions," I reason, when a pleasantly surprised Daniel Jackson asks why.

Major Carter laughs and blushes. "We monopolised Harry's time, didn't we? Sorry, Teal'c!" she manages, echoed with similar reaction by Daniel Jackson.

And, flanked by my comrades, Henry Evans sends me a knowing glance, before teasing Major Carter about her prior claim of observant manner.

The need to know burns ever fiercer in my chest, because of that.

O-O-O-O

"Daniel told me your people were once brought from round here, by the parasitic snake-like beings that ruled here thousands of years ago and pretended to be gods and goddesses," is what Henry Evans says, softly, as we watch the car that have come for my comrades and me speed away down the deserted road.

"Indeed," I affirm, curious by the seeming non-sequitur.

"Have you never wondered whom your Earth ancestors were and if you shared blood with any still living here?" he continues, and my heart somehow jolts and squirms in my chest.

"As you said, it has been thousands of years," I point out, in my level-most tone, although my heart is now pounding harder and harder against my ribcage.

He nods. "Magical communities like the past so much," he confides after a pause, as we continue our way back to where he lives; yet another seeming non-sequitur. "Traditions, ancestry, heirlooms – well, all that. Some families can even trace themselves thousands of years back, by record or by a specific artefact."

I wish to urge him to come quickly to the point that he wanted to make with these statements, and yet, at the same time, I wish he would never come to that point.

Hope is a terrible, terrible thing, and I wish to avoid it, although now I am painfully aware that, all this time, I have apparently been harbouring such myself – to find good-hearted unknown relatives, even.

Expectations and goals are good to have, to pursue, but not hope.

Because hope, like love, can break someone into irretrievable pieces, or change the person to the point of unrecognisability.

But, regardless of my wishes, come to the point he does, when we are once more seated in his living area in opposite armchairs, undistracted by anything: "What did you feel, when you drank and ate the things I made myself?"

"Familiarity," I give back just as bluntly.

He replies with only a bittersweet smile, for a while, his eyes dark and faraway. And then, in a similarly faraway tone, he murmurs, "I wished for a family of my own, for the longest time. I nearly had it, once. Then I found some, just when I thought everything was going to end, that year."

Still entranced by his own recollection, his hands – laid on his lap – move, one rubbing at a specific spot on the other.

And, in the next second, another person materialises beside his armchair, coalescing together like coloured pieces of fog made clear and solid: a large, muscled man with rough features, as bald as I am, with skin and eyes as dark as mine are, bare-footed and bare-chested, garbed only in a simple loincloth.

I jump to my feet, startled and wary.

Henry Evans also rises to his feet, after a pause as if to gather his thoughts or will or even courage, smoothly and calmly, and softly announces, "Teal'c, meet Black, our shared ancestor."