Since Jason Momoa (and then Joe Mallozzi) confirmed that Ronon is in fact keeping the dreads now, I've had to go back and change the bit with Ronon in the infirmary so he doesn't have short hair. Just so y'all know.
Anyway, I'm back at university now, so updates will probably be even rarer! However, I also like to write to relax from work, so you never know, it might go the other way entirely! I do have the next chapter entirely planned out, so you might be seeing that very soon.
Thanks for all the fab feedback I've been getting – I hope you enjoy this update.
Chapter Five
John had never really done photos. He'd had a couple tacked onto the inside of his locker like everyone else, but he wasn't the kind of guy that had an apartment full of framed pictures of friends and family. It wasn't that he had a dislike of photographs or something like that – if he'd ever really thought about it, he would have realised that the reason he didn't have photographs or any other kind of random knick knacks in his apartment was because it wasn't home to him. He'd never been in a place where he'd felt compelled to collect items around him.
There had been photos when he'd lived with Nancy, and knick knacks, but they had been hers. As much as he – as they both – had tried, that house hadn't been his home; he'd just dropped in every couple of months from wherever they'd sent him.
So, the thing that John found most surprising when Teyla showed him to his quarters after lunch was not that he'd moved quarters at some point; it was the sheer amount of stuff there was lying around. The Johnny Cash poster he'd snuck to Atlantis in his pack was still in pride of place above his bed, and he was pleased to see War and Peace still lying on his bedside table. But in contrast to the sparseness he remembered, his quarters was quite literally littered with evidence that they were in contact with Earth.
There was a stack of DVDs on his desk against the wall, a small pile of magazines on the table in front of the couch in the corner; the end of a skateboard poked out from under his bed and his guitar, which had been in storage for at least a year before he'd come to Atlantis, was propped up against the wall. There was a pair of jeans tossed over one end of the sofa and a pair of sneakers on the floor by the desk.
A candle in a carved wooden holder stood on top of his bookcase. And then there were the photos. There weren't many, and they weren't in completely obvious places, but they were there.
Teyla was hovering in the doorway, watching as John looked around his quarters. Eventually he turned back to her, and she gave him an encouraging smile. "I am sure that being here will help you to remember," she said.
John seriously doubted it, but he decided to keep that particular piece of pessimism to himself.
"I'm just going to go and collect some mission files," she said. "I will be back soon."
"Er, okay," said John. And she was gone, leaving him alone in the unfamiliar room. Still, at least this was a room he recognised. He might not remember being there before, but it did, somehow, feel like it was his. He laid the shirt he was still carrying on the end of the bed and sat down next to it, only to stand up again straight away. He walked over the bookcase and stared at the candle. It was quite big, and yellow, and looked Athosian. Not that candles differed all that much to John's mind – he assumed it was Athosian anyway, and wondered why he had it. It had obviously been lit – not for long by the looks of it, but lit nonetheless. It was nice and all, but he did candles even less than he did photos.
Speaking of which, there were two photos in frames on the top shelf directly under the candle. John picked up the first one – it was of him, Ford, Dr Weir, Teyla and McKay. They were standing on one of the balconies, windswept but smiling. John had no memory of when it had been taken. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers tightening on the frame. Ford was missing. Weir was dead. They were both gone.
John replaced the frame and picked up the other one. It was one of those ones that held two photos and opened like a book. It was a team photo of the team John didn't remember – himself, McKay, Teyla and Ronon. They were standing on the steps in the gateroom, all in uniform except for Ronon who wore a long brown leather coat over clothes similar to what John had seen him in earlier. John stared at him, at the firm set of his jaw and the way his brows were pulled low, almost frowning at the camera. Teyla had said he was close to Ronon, and John didn't think she was lying – still, it was a little hard to imagine. It certainly hadn't seemed that way in the infirmary.
John shifted his attention to the other photo in the frame, and couldn't help but smile. It was the same scene, and must have been taken a few seconds before or after the other photo – but in this one, John had McKay in a headlock and his mouth was wide open… it looked like he was trying to bite off his ear. McKay was doubling over, trying to get away from him, his face red and very, very annoyed. Teyla, who was standing next to McKay and one step up, had her head turned towards them and a look of pure exasperation (mingled with a tinge of amusement) on her face, and Ronon… Ronon was standing next to John, and a step down, and his head was thrown back as he obviously roared with laughter.
John stared at Ronon once again, his smile fading. So, the guy had a sense of humour. That was good to know, at least.
John put the pictures back on the shelf and turned round to face the rest of the room. He picked up his copy of War and Peace and saw that he was about two-thirds of the way through it. He nudged the skateboard out from under his bed and saw that it was his old skateboard that he had had since he was fifteen, and had been in storage with his guitar. He pushed it back under the bed. He wandered over to the desk and looked at the titles of the DVDs – there were some he didn't recognise at all. He picked up one and saw from the back that it had been made in 2007. He put it back down without reading the blurb. He drummed his fingers on top of his laptop – it was small, sleek and silver, and had the Atlantis logo on the front of it… he hadn't had a laptop before. Then he saw the other framed photo, on one corner of his desk and half-hidden behind a stack of empty folders.
John froze and stared at it for a few seconds before reaching out very slowly and picking it up.
The picture was of him, sitting on the couch in his room. He was wearing basically what he was wearing right now and he was… he was holding a baby. John was holding him so that he was also facing the camera, one arm under his legs and the other across his chest. One of the baby's arms was over his, and his head was resting against the side of his neck. The baby had very dark brown hair, tanned skin and dark brown eyes that were focused on something to the left of the camera.
John stared down at little Tagan, never doubting for a second who it was. He looked just like Teyla.
John dragged his eyes away from Tagan to look at himself again, taking in his wide smile. John had never been that comfortable around babies… not that he'd ever really been around them that much… but he looked completely at ease holding Tagan like that. He looked… well, happy.
John jumped slightly as his doors slid open and Teyla walked in again, carrying a pile of about twenty mission reports. John's brain was telling him to put down the photo and go and take them out of her hands, but instead he just tightened his grip on the picture of him and Teyla's baby and stood in complete silence, watching her.
Teyla didn't seem to mind that John didn't jump to help her- she walked straight over to the table by the couch and put the pile down, and then turned to face him, smiling.
"These are the reports up to just before the siege – it will take us a while to…" Her voice trailed off when she saw what he was holding, and her gaze became intense, as though she were trying to bore into his mind and discover what he was thinking.
John cleared his throat. "So – er – he… looks like you," he said lamely. He could feel his cheeks reddening slightly – had Teyla already known that he had this photo of her son in his quarters, on his desk? Why did he have a picture of him with her son?
Teyla seemed to relax and she gave him a bright smile, and John felt himself relax as well. "Thank you," she said. "That picture was only taken a few weeks ago."
"Yeah?"
"Yes – I made the mistake of leaving him alone with you and Ronon."
John blinked. "What? Mistake? What did I do?" Dear Lord… had he – and Ronon – done something awful to Tagan?
Teyla just smiled again. "Have you noticed his hair?"
John frowned and looked down at the photo again, this time at Tagan's hair. He didn't have too much of it, being two months old, but John now noticed that what he did have was slicked and styled so it stuck up at the front almost like his did. In fact, exactly like his did.
John looked back up at Teyla, horrified. "I didn't do that, did I?"
Teyla raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. "Well, Ronon claims it was you, and you swear it was Ronon," she said. "I believe it was a dual effort."
John shook his head, wondering why Teyla didn't look angry with him. He had played with her baby as though he was a doll. And John had never played with dolls. What the hell?!
Teyla laughed suddenly. "John… it was only water – do not worry," she said.
The news that it was water and not hair gel on Tagan's head made John feel slightly better, but only slightly.
"Well, I'm sorry," he said sincerely.
Teyla grinned. "It could have been worse," she said. "You could have tried to recreate Ronon's hairstyle."
John laughed, imagining what a baby with dreads would look like. He gave the picture one last look before placing it back on the desk. Now that he knew Teyla wasn't angry about what he – they – had done, he didn't feel too bad about it… it was a very cute picture. He mused that he just found it strange that he was that confident with Teyla and with her son to do something like that. This whole situation was just beyond weird.
Also, John was once again rethinking his initial reaction to Ronon. Here was further proof that his new teammate did in fact have a sense of humour, and that he and John had fun together. Hearing Teyla talk about them as though they were a pair of misbehaving schoolboys was certainly food for thought. John resolved to track Ronon down soon and actually have a conversation with the guy.
John turned back to Teyla and gave her a small smile. "So… you were saying about the reports?"
"I think it will take us a little while to get through these – I suggest we read them together, and I can answer any questions you may have," she said. "Hopefully it will help you to remember." She sat down on the couch and picked up one of the folders.
John nodded and walked over to join her. "Okay – whose reports are they?"
"Yours."
John sat down next to Teyla and she handed him the folder she held. He looked down at the label on the front and saw 'Major John Sheppard' stamped across the front in bold black letter.
"Right," he said weakly. "Let's get started."
TBC