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COLLABORATIONS

CHAPTER 5

Sheppard walked slowly along the sandstone corridor towards the kitchen, happy to be out of his sick bed, and finally free of the confines of the small room where he'd stayed, pretty much alone, since arriving ten days ago. This was his first opportunity to see around the monastery, and John found it as he expected, clean, stark, unadorned by rugs or any other ornaments, only the sunlight streaming through the two long windows at either end, saving it from plainness by giving it golden glow.

John was grateful to the monks, who while not exactly kindly, had saved his life. However, he was more than a little concerned at what kind of religious order it was, who carried concealed weapons under their habits, and fitted solid metal shackles around his ankles the minute he was mobile. Right up until then he was happy to sit tight, confident in the knowledge rescue would come, especially after Kolya left the infirmary. Only then, with the malicious Genii absent, had he been able to rest peacefully, sure in the knowledge those dark, beady eyes wouldn't be staring, as if into his soul, each time he awoke. But all good things come to an end, and as the knot in his stomach testified, John knew that situation couldn't last, as today he was joining the 'faithful', which also meant he would be reuniting with his nemesis…Nessan Kolya.

The large kitchen was almost rectangular in shape, but despite being hot, it was devoid of any real warmth…just another stark, utilitarian space, like the rest of the building. On one side, set deep in the middle of the wall was a wide iron grate inset with slated shelves, each set evenly spaced over hot coals, which he reckoned would probably be great for making pizza. The opposite wall held two deep ceramic sinks with long wooden worktops alongside, neatly piled with pans, and everything else needed to cook for the hungry followers. In the centre of the room was a stout wooden table set with odd chairs of varying shapes and colours, which brought back memories of a happier time, as they reminded him of chairs around grandma's kitchen table, in her old rambling, red brick house near Carmel.

Mom had only ever taken him and Dave there once, during a summer vacation when he was six. It was the best vacation of his life. When the sun shone, which was most of the time, they went down to the beach and made castles in the sand. Then later, as it started to get hot, they chased each other in and out of the waves, getting completely drenched, laughing until his face hurt, watched all the while by both women who never let them out of their sight.

Although as he reminisced, he realised even the rainy days were pretty special, too. Being stuck inside was never boring, like at home. Sometimes grandma would let them bake cookies, and as the sweet smell came from the oven, they would play endless games of hide and seek, scooting round the big wooden table, but always ending up with either him or Dave hiding in the pantry, surprised each time they were caught. Even as a young kid John wondered about those odd chairs, where did they come from...why didn't grandma buy a smart new set? But he forgot to ask at the time, and never again got the chance. Because that was the last time he saw the old lady, as soon after they got home, mom got sick and after her death his dad broke off all contact with her family.

Without mom, all the fun and laughter left their lives. Dad, who liked order above all else, didn't know how to be a parent, didn't even try, and never made the effort to understand either of his son's. Dave of course, did everything he could to impress him, partly out of fear he'd guessed…at least in the beginning. But not him. Even from that young age, he'd rebelled, got into trouble time and time again, as his need for adventure couldn't be suppressed. His dad would shut him in his room without supper, or sometimes, when he really pissed him off, throw him into the small, dark cupboard under the stairs, with the door locked. Looking back, how he never became claustrophobic was a miracle. It was really weird, but he felt secure in the cramped space…and even felt comforted by the inky darkness. Maybe that was why he felt right at home in a 302 from the very beginning, while some of the other cadets got freaked out by the enclosed space.

Of course, once he got too big for the cupboard, his refuge, and the locked room could no longer hold him, his dad tried other methods to bring him into line. His father never hit him. Physical abuse, was not his style, that would have been too intimate…too personal. A man in his position, a businessman, used to getting what he wanted, instead used the tools of his trade…blackmail.

While he watched Dave get everything…bikes…cars…rides with dad in the company jet…he was denied them all, just because he wouldn't fit in with the grand plans laid down for him, while still in his mother's womb. The fact he was consistently top of his class especially grated with the old man...since he was wasting his intellect, his potential, by refusing to go to the schools carefully chosen for him by his father. Finally, when he was almost fifteen, Patrick Sheppard used the last weapon in his arsenal against him. He ignored him, cut him off from everything but food and a place to sleep, and John Sheppard became the black sheep of the family…an ungrateful misfit…an outcast.

It would really have pissed the old man off if he'd known his abuse had the opposite effect. Being cut off made him have to work for a living, right from his first paper route at the age of seven. It taught him early on in life the value of money, and brought him into contact with others who didn't have the advantage of wealth or power. That type of experience couldn't be bought, and taught him respect…for himself and for others. Still, he knew he was screwed up in many ways. For a long time he had a problem with any kind of authority figure, and he was stubborn. He would never let anyone see him beaten, or in pain…not if he could possibly help it. And, because of dad and his intolerance… his need for domination…John couldn't stand to see others browbeaten or abused, and always did whatever he could to stop injustice and oppression…regardless in what form it took.

Aware of activity around him, he dragged himself back to the present and saw at the top of the kitchen a huge pantry, stacked full of supplies and another monk, possibly one of the oldest men he'd ever seen, walk out dragging a large sack.

"Brother, Frama, this is one of the visitors who arrived injured some time ago. As he is not quite fully recovered and unable to work in the fields, I thought he could be of some help to you in the kitchen."

John suppressed a smile as Frama looked him over like a piece of livestock, before pointing to a chair by the table. Sheppard winced as he eased himself gingerly into the chair, protecting his ribs, as the old monk handed him a large sack of potatoes and a blunt knife.

Sheppard quickly concealed his look of surprise at being handed a potential weapon, but Malen had already seen it.

"I'm sure, Mr Kolya, you are not thinking of leaving us. However, I should warn you, we are many miles from the Ancestral Ring, all of us are armed, and brother Frama may look old, but he is far from harmless…too many before you have made that mistake."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Father." John smiled, then looked to the old monk. "How would you like these done, Brother? Peeled whole, halved or cut into fries?"

Frama glared at John as Malen walked away shaking his head and smiling. "Fries? What nonsense you speak, boy! Just peel and wash, like everywhere else in the galaxy."

As he settled down to his task, Sheppard could have laughed at the indignant expression on the old monk's face. Except of course, he was far from home, rescue still hadn't come, and the chaffing of the tight chains around his ankles prevented an easy escape. All of which reminded him, this situation really wasn't funny at all.

ooooOoooo

Torren was teething again and Teyla, usually patience personified, was starting to feel worn out, agitated from lack of sleep...plus sick with worry over John.

The halls of Atlantis were unusually quiet this early in the morning, deserted of people who had long since gone to their quarters to sleep. Teyla sighed, jealous at the thought, as she carried the crying child up and down the empty corridors, quietly singing every lullaby she knew, praying the steady motion would eventually lull him to sleep and let her get some, too. Approaching Rodney's lab, she saw a light shining from the doorway, but wasn't really surprised to find her team mate stretched across the bench, too engrossed in his work to even hear Torren's heartfelt cries as she approached

"Rodney…it's two o'clock in the morning, why are you still working? If I had known you didn't intend getting any rest tonight I would have left my son with you, so at least one of us could get some sleep."

McKay looked up surprised. "Is that the time? What with analysing the data from the satellites and trying to cross-match the Intel from Ladon with the 'gate addresses retrieved from the DHD…I had no idea."

"I understand, Rodney…you are under pressure trying to determine the level of the Wraith threat and are also worried about John, as am I. But at least Ronon has now been released to his quarters, so hopefully by the time he is well enough, we will have the information we need to mount a rescue. Although I am concerned about Ronon. We both know how desperate he is to start searching, and how impatient he gets during recovery. It would not be the first time he has disobeyed Dr Beckett's orders about taking it easy."

"Who are you calling impatient?" Standing outside, leaning against the doorframe was Ronon, breathing heavily.

Teyla and Rodney shared a look of concern at they saw their friend, pale-faced and slicked with sweat, holding his side.

"What the …You've been running…Ronon! Sit down you moron…before you fall down." Rodney jumped off the seat, grabbed his friend's arm and forced him down on his chair, ignoring the Satedan's dirty look and angry grunt. "Beckett's going to have a fit when he finds out…seriously, what in hell's name did you think you were doing? You only got out of the infirmary today!"

"Stop fussing, McKay…I'm good. Which one of you is going to tell Beckett anyway?"

"I will, if you do it again." Teyla glared at her friend, both angry and concerned at the same time. "Rodney is right, Ronon. You might have been released from the infirmary, but you are still healing inside. I know you want to start searching for John…we all do. But we still don't know where he is, so in the meantime you must be patient…allow yourself to rest and heal, and then when the time comes, you will be ready to join us."

Closing his laptop with a snap, Rodney checked his watch and yawned. "Right…as its obvious I'm not going to get any more work done tonight, what do you say we head for the canteen, and the big guy here sweet talks Mable into making us some of her hot chocolate. You know… her own special recipe, with real cream and marshmallows on top?"

"Why do you think she would do that for me, McKay?" Ronon flinched as he slowly moved off the chair.

"You've got to be kidding me…" Rodney saw Ronon's surprised look. "Honestly, you didn't know the woman practically worships the ground you walk on? Did you seriously think she gave double helpings of chocolate chip pudding to everyone? All that power…and you didn't even know it…what a waste."

Walking along side by side, enjoying the easy banter of her friends Teyla looked down upon the beautiful features of her son, now composed in sleep, and smiled. He was so precious, and she was a lucky woman to have him…the life she shared with Kanaan…her friends. But, there was still an ache in her heart when she thought of John. She felt responsible for his abduction, regardless of what anyone said…but they would find him and bring him home…they always did.

ooooOoooo

At the end of the day, John stared at his hands, saw the angry red skin, and gained a new respect for kitchen staff everywhere. Sheppard had no idea how many potatoes he'd peeled, but by the time they were cooked and ready to eat, if he never saw another one…it would be too soon.

John hissed, his tender ribs protesting the movement, as he moved the hot, heavy bowls from the kitchen, along the corridor, and down the short flight of stairs to the dining room. There, he placed them, as instructed, at equal intervals along the two long, narrow wooden tables, where the hungry men sat patiently waiting. For the next twenty minutes or so, he went back and forth, carrying heavy pots of hearty stew, along with bowls brimming with brightly coloured vegetables, before being allowed to sit himself, at the one empty seat remaining …opposite Kolya.

Nessan looked up, eyes full of hate, as John took his place at the table. Sheppard held his angry glare, noting the man looked as exhausted as he felt. A sure sign the monks were right, he was far from fit, feeling completely wiped out from mere kitchen duty, his ribs aching after lifting just a few heavy bowls.

Shunning the man in front of him, Sheppard bypassed the potatoes, and helped himself to some stew and vegetables, surprised at how much of an appetite he had, despite being in such close proximity to someone who hated him with a vengeance, someone who would stop at nothing until he was dead.

Sheppard watched as the weary men rose from the table, and made their way gradually through to the adjacent room, as he slowly began clearing the tables, before making one of several trips back to the kitchen. One of the benefits of being an officer, then subsequently commander of a base, meant John hadn't been assigned KP duty for years, but he was making up for it now, losing count of how many dishes he'd washed and dried. Without his watch, it was impossible to know what time it was by the time when he eventually finished. John only knew it was dark, and he felt fit to drop, when Frama eventually took him to where he would spend the night.

They passed the tables, which not long ago had been laden with food, as the old monk showed him into the same room where he'd seen the others go earlier that evening. It was a large windowless space, lined with simple wooden bunks on either side, with only two wall mounted, oil filled lamps saving it from total darkness. As he adjusted his eyes to the gloom, Sheppard could just about make out there was only bunk left unoccupied at the end of one row, which was just across from where Nessan was sleeping.

Even as he eased his aching body down onto the flimsy mattress, he heard the door close, followed by the chilling sound of the key turning in the lock. John thought of Atlantis, his friends, and hoped Ronon was okay, but still couldn't help but wonder why it was taking so long for his team to find him. His transponder was still where it should be, safely hidden in his arm, and as far as he was aware, they were only taken through one 'gate…so what was the hold up?

Aware he was being unreasonable, John gave himself a mental shake, realising it was only because this whole setup had him spooked. He hoped his team were okay, and knew Atlantis would never leave him behind without a good reason, which made him worry more, because something must be wrong to delay his rescue. Across the room, John saw Kolya sleeping peacefully in his bunk, and wondered when the Genii would make his move. Exacting his revenge would be a really dumb thing for Kolya to even contemplate in this place, and Nessan wasn't normally a stupid man. But he was restrained and desperate…never a good combination for a man with a hair trigger temper like his. However, John felt so damn tired, he could barely stay awake, so he reluctantly closed his eyes, and hoped that whatever Kolya was planning, it wouldn't be tonight…

ooooOoooo

TBC

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