Chapter 2: The Depth of the Forest

Location: Hungary
Key Date: Friday, 18th June, 1999

"Victor Charlie Charlie, I have visual on a possible crash site," Evan took the little plane down below 300 feet, heading for the flash of reflected sunlight glinting somewhere amidst the stretch of rocky mountain terrain. He hadn't asked how the Canadian contingent had managed to get the little Cessna 337 Skymaster all the way to Vicenza from its service on fire fighting detection duty in Dryden Ontario. Instead he'd just taken the chance when offered to fly the Skymaster on another search and rescue mission to find a downed CF-18 and its two pilots.

Lieutenant Logan Blake ... and Captain John 'Slammer' Jones.

Lorne was using his off time after getting reluctant approval from his commanding officer. Not that Major Harrison had a problem with Lorne helping out their allies – as long as he didn't push himself too hard. Evan would have wanted to fly as many SAR missions as he could anyway, but knowing one of the mission pilots put a whole different spin on that. Even though he was no longer assigned to the Canadian air force he'd still maintained his connections and had kept up with his fellow ex rookie mates.

He'd actually been excited when Slammer had been posted to Vicenza at the start of Operation Deliberate Forge. He and John had completed their fighter pilot training together at Cold Lake two years before, the other man the unofficial leader of their group. They'd stayed in touch but it had been months since they'd really been able to hang out together – Evan staying at Cold Lake after training while John had been assigned to the Bagotville air force base 1700 miles away. Lorne's new wing (Aviano's 31st fighting wing) had been integrated into NATO's 5th Allied Tactical Force along with fighter wings from all the participating NATO countries so it had been like being back on the same team again.

And then Slammer had taken his Hornet out on a routine 'protect and defend' mission to guard a convoy of supply trucks heading out into the less populated areas to deliver much needed relief to the locals. The trucks had arrived safely but John and Lieutenant Blake hadn't returned home.

"Base, relay coordinates," flight control requested.

"Victor Charlie Charlie, 44.5 degrees latitude, 34 degrees longitude," Evan consulted the GPS system before reporting his position.

"Base, sitrep ... do you have visual on the friendly?"

Flying as slow as the plane could go without stalling, Lorne looped the area where he'd seen that flash, covering ground until abruptly he saw it again.

"Victor Charlie Charlie, I am visual," Evan replied. "I have scatter damage ... half a mile in diameter. No signs of activity."

"Base, affirmative. We'll send a HH-60 for retrieval," flight control confirmed after a moment's pause.

"Victor Charlie Charlie, acknowledged," Lorne continued to circle, nothing but debris standing out against the barren rocks. "Come on John," he muttered worriedly. "Where the hell are you?"

Startling awake, Evan frowned for a moment before he snapped back into the present with a glance at his watch. His fourteen hour train ride from Florence to Budapest was almost over. It had been tiring sitting around doing nothing for so long ... tiring enough that he'd nodded off for a while there.

Shaking off the unpleasant subject matter of his dreams, Lorne turned his attention to the view. Hungary was one of the flattest countries in Europe, it's most recognisable features the Great Hungarian Plain to the east and the river Danube that flowed through the middle of it.

Although he enjoyed getting a feel for the country as a whole, Evan wasn't there to see it all. He was there for Budapest ... the City of Spas ... Queen of the Danube. A city dating back to the 13th century in one form or another, representing unity in the joining of three cities to make the modern day capital of Hungary. Specifically, Lorne was heading for the Hungarian National Gallery, interesting both for the picture he was there to see as well as the Gallery itself.

The works of the National Gallery were spread over four buildings, part of the former Royal Palace of Buda nestled on the banks of the Danube. Evan exited the train at Kelenföld station, his pack over his shoulders and a detailed map of the city streets in hand. From what he could tell it would take about an hour to walk to the Gallery ... after so many hours on the train he was looking forward to the exercise as well as the chance to choose a small hotel close by to stay for a few days.

It was the kind of day you'd expect for early summer ... sunny but with the hint of cooler winds still in the air. Evan could see the river in the distance, the city a wealth of history through architecture despite the heavy damage it had taken during the second world war. Still a mile or so away from the Gallery he found a place to stay, checked in and dropped off his pack, keeping his sketch book and pencils with him as he continued on.

And then he was on Palota út ... Palace Way. The formal Royal residence was enormous ... old and impressive in a way nothing in his own country could boast. Walking through the main entrance Evan grabbed a gallery map, scanning it quickly for the most likely location for his first port of call.

The Depth of the Forest ... a landscape by László Paál. It was painted in the Barbizon school, named for a village in France where painters had first gathered in the mid 19th century to follow a very basic ideal. That nature could be the subject rather than just the background of a painting. Most likely that was the time that plein air painting had first become so popular. The Barbizon's were all about romantic realism ... although Evan wasn't sure the two concepts could exist together in real life he found the ideal to be attractive in an art context. Paál had taken the principles of Barbizon a step further, portraying more than just an objective reflection of nature by projecting his feelings to the landscapes he painted. You could make a fair assessment of Paál's frame of mind while painting just from the mood the completed works invoked.

At his heart Evan was a landscape painter ... it fascinated him the way no scene was ever fixed. Light quality and brightness, weather, atmosphere, and something indefinable that was as much about the artist as it was about the subject shifted the components of nature and form, making them fluid and ever changing. Lorne painted a scene not to record it like a graphical description, but to capture the mood of the time – his and the scene itself. Paál might not be as well known as the big name painters but to Lorne his body of work was an integral part of Evan's inspiration in his own work. That was true despite his not having painted anything for more years than he wanted to think about. He wasn't ready to crack out the canvas and brushes yet but he could feel the bubbling of ideas and artistic interest in the world around him inside – something he hadn't felt for a long time.

In one of the rooms presenting 19th century painting Evan found his quarry. He stood before Paál's forest scene, surprised to note that it was much bigger than he'd been expecting. The colours were vivid – autumn yellow leaves, darkened trunks glinting almost white in places. Paál had painted one tree as the focal point, its fellows gathered behind it like soldiers covering a comrade's back. A stack of fallen branches lay on the ground beside it as though to advertise the presence of humanity. And there, in the background, almost merging into one of the tree trunks, was a woman. She and the pile of branches did nothing to detract from the wildness of the forest, as though the artist had been suggesting that humanity could not have an impact on the integrity of the forest to be what it was.

The scene invoked a sense of peace the longer Lorne looked at it. To his mind the woman was content to be a part of the forest without disturbing its silence and tranquillity.

"It's an interesting piece, isn't it?"

Evan turned, startled from his inspection of the painting, to see a middle aged man dressed in a dark blue suit standing behind him. Shorter than Lorne, he had that deceptive build that suggested a more muscular physique than one would expect from his outward attire.

"Very," Lorne agreed, turning back to the picture. "I was just trying to decide what might be hidden amongst the trees."

"And have you come to any conclusions?" the man asked curiously.

"Everything and nothing," Lorne returned simply. "Whatever you want to be hidden there, depending on the day."

"I was going to suggest a cart for all those branches but I like your answer better," the man said with a faint chuckle. "Brian Green," he introduced himself, holding out his right hand.

"Evan Lorne," Evan replied, shaking the other man's hand quickly and firmly.

"American?" Green asked.

Nodding, Evan asked "English?"

"Of old," Green agreed. "These days I'm more of a gypsy. I call the world my home," he swept his hands out expansively.

"Well, I like what you've done with the place," Lorne joked. Brian laughed, drawing the attention of the other visitors to the room. "You've been here before?" Evan asked curiously.

"Many times," Green revealed. "Perhaps these aren't the most famous works in the world but I see something different in them every time I visit."

"I put Budapest on my list because of this painting," Evan gestured to the forest, silently waiting to be noticed by anyone willing to give it a chance.

"Then you have excellent taste in art Mr Lorne," Green said approvingly.

"Evan," Lorne returned.

"You have excellent taste Evan," Green acknowledged. "And what other works do you have on that list?"

"Too many to count," Lorne admitted self deprecatingly.

"Well I hope you get to see them all one day," Brian held out his hand again. "It was a pleasure to meet someone who appreciates the paintings in this room as much as I do. I'll leave you to enjoy them in peace."

"Likewise," Evan shook hands again, nodding before turning back to The Depth of the Forest.

What did he see hidden in the trees that day? Secrets or truths yet to be revealed? Sadness when he began to think that perhaps the woman was searching for more than just firewood as she walked silently amongst the trees. Searching for something she'd never find ... just as he'd searched in the mountains of Bosnia for something already gone.

"Don't go there," he told himself, resolutely turning away from his thoughts and away from the painting. He'd come back and look at it another day when his mood was more conducive to seeing its positive side. For now there were plenty of other masterpieces for him to enjoy.

oOo

Walking from the Gallery hours later Evan continued along Palace Way rather than heading back to his hotel. He wanted to see the river - the view from Chain Bridge, one of the most recognisable landmarks of the city – should be just the ticket.

Standing in the middle, looking down at the river making its journey through the city, he couldn't help but return to his contemplation of things hidden ... and lost. The downside of travelling alone, not having someone to distract you from your thoughts.

He felt lost ... because he hadn't been able to find that plane before it was too late? Was it as simple as that? The internal need to question everything because one thing hadn't gone the way it should have. Staring into the swirling water below Evan honestly didn't know. The trip might not have helped him resolve anything so far but he did feel closer to his art and that restored something inside he hadn't even known was broken.

Dusk was settling over the horizon. Wanting to get back to his hotel before it got dark, Lorne finally left the bridge and walked briskly back the way he'd come. The accommodation he'd chosen turned out to be popular with young travellers. Evan found himself drawn into the community of tourists during the evening meal, happy to admit to being on extended leave from work without telling anyone what it was he did for a living.

Thinking about it later, he realised he hadn't once admitted to his military connections since he'd left Vicenza base. It wasn't because he was ashamed or worried that being in the air force would have an impact on his travels, either positively or negatively.

It just wasn't who he wanted to be right then ... and that saddened him a little.

oOo

"So, you create as well as admire art," a vaguely familiar voice behind him noted with interest.

Evan glanced over his shoulder, his brow raised in surprised. "Mr Green," he acknowledged the man he'd met his first day in the city.

"Brian, please," Green returned. Nodding to Evan's sketch pad, he continued. "I recognised you from the Gallery a few days ago. When I realised you were drawing I must admit to being curious. May I?" he asked for permission to take a closer look.

"Sure," Evan shrugged, holding out the almost completed sketch. He'd attempted to capture the river side view of the Buda Palace from Chain Bridge, the place he'd chosen as his vantage point.

Brian stood looking at the pencil drawing for a few moments, before getting permission to flip through the previous pages slowly. He took in other scenes in Budapest and all across Italy before looking up with a smile. "You have talent Evan," he complimented, returning to Lorne's current work. "I can't say why but I can almost feel the presence of great works of art in how you've drawn this. Do you paint?"

"I used to," Evan admitted. "Not for a while now ... being here is certainly inspiring me to want to try my hand again."

"One wonders what it must have been like in László Paál's day when painters gathered as a community and inspired each other to experiment and grow as artists," Brian commented as he returned the sketch book.

"You go to the right places and I'm sure they still do," Lorne glanced down at his work before turning his attention back to its subject. In the late day light the river added a sparkle to the edges of the waterfront and Evan felt compelled to extend that effect up the walls of the palace.

"If you ever do more than the occasional sketch, give me a call," Brian held out his business card.

Taking it, Evan read the inscription. 'Brian Green, Curator ... Green and Black Gallery, London.' "I thought you said the world was your home," he commented, tucking the card away in his shirt pocket.

"It is," Brian agreed. "I do the work of locating pieces to show in a small gallery I co own. My partner handles the rest of the business. We display well known pieces as well as the work of unsigned artists."

"Well I think that's all a little out of my league," Evan said with a chuckle. "I'm just dabbling ... trying to capture something of what it was like to be here. Because photos just wouldn't cut it for a trip like this."

"Your sketches remind one of the emotions behind the scenes," Brian returned. "Something photos rarely do. I look at the sketch you're working on today and it reminds me of what it was like the first time I came here. That takes more than a little skill and talent."

"Thanks," Lorne wasn't used to getting feedback on his artistic efforts, not since his Mom used to critique every piece he painted, always encouraging him to find his own artistic voice.

"Again, I have disturbed you," Brian said apologetically. "Please, continue. Keep my card ... and if you make it to London perhaps you will visit our gallery."

"I'll do that," Evan promised.

oOo

As with his time spent in Italy, Lorne returned to the National Gallery a number of times before branching out to other locations within Budapest. Another of the works on his personal list of must sees was located close by at the Museum of Fine Arts.

Monet's Fishing Boats.

What Evan had always liked about that picture was the simplicity of its subject ... just three row boats beached in front of a choppy sea. He's always been fascinated with seascapes. As the ultimate in landscapes that continually changed the ocean couldn't be beaten. Monet's work only hinted at that, the focus being the boats themselves, but Evan had always wondered how the artist would have expanded it if he'd taken more of the ocean into the scene.

As it turned out he was in for disappointment. The painting had been taken from active display in preparation for being shipped to be part of a Monet exhibition at the Met. If he wanted to see it he'd have to go to New York ... which was kind of amusing since he was at the painting's home gallery only to find that it would soon be on his home soil. He enquired at the front desk but was told that no one got to see works not on display ... something he'd expected although it hadn't hurt to ask.

He wasn't planning it that way, but within two weeks he was again ready to move on. On his last night in Budapest, Lorne packed what little he carried with him and then sat on his bed for a moment before reluctantly heading down to the hotel lobby. There was just one more thing he had to do before he left Budapest.

oOo

"Hello," his sister's voice brought a smile to Evan's face even as stronger emotions rose inside him. Suddenly he longed to be home ... not the place but the people, his family.

"Hello Lainee," he returned in a casual voice, as though they'd only spoken days instead of more than a month before.

"Evan!" Elaine almost squealed him deaf she was so excited by his call.

"How are things at home?" he asked.

"Fine," she replied. "More importantly, how are you?"

"Good," Evan said automatically, before correcting himself. "Better."

"Drew told me about John," Elaine's voice was thick with tears. Unlike his mother, she had met John a couple of times when Evan had been doing F-18 training, and again when she'd visited Evan during his time in Canada. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," Evan ground out, his voice low and gravelly. He took a few moments to calm himself, staring blindly across the hotel lobby to the street outside. "Drew called you?" Andrew - also known as Drew - Rider was Lorne's closest friend from fighter pilot school. Evan had seen him at the funeral but hadn't hung around to catch up ... because he'd been due back on base and because even with Drew who understood more than most, Lorne hadn't been ready to talk.

"He was in the area and stopped by to tell me in person," Elaine explained. "He knew you'd take it hard and I guess he heard about your sudden need for leave."

"I ah ...," he frowned, reluctant to tell her the details over the phone. "I couldn't stay there Lainee ... couldn't switch off the 'what if's. Thinking about my failure -,"

"You did everything you could, I'm one hundred percent sure of that," Elaine broke in, her tone chiding him for blaming himself.

"How can you say that when you don't know the full details?" Evan shot back impatiently.

"Then tell me the details," she said firmly.

"Not over the phone," he shook his head even though she couldn't see him. "And not now ... I haven't sorted it out in my own mind yet."

"But soon?" Elaine asked gently.

"Soon," he agreed.

"So ... how's the art tour going?" Elaine changed the subject in a lighter tone.

"I should have done this years ago," Evan replied. "It's ... I can't describe it Sis. I never believed it before now but you really do have to see them in person to truly appreciate just how ... extraordinary some of these paintings are."

"I think you're doing this exactly when you needed to," Elaine said softly.

"Maybe," he agreed. "How's Mom?"

"Worried about you and trying to hide it," Elaine said without apology. "She's fine."

"I'm sorry ...," he trailed off with an audible sigh.

"Where are you going next?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

"The Hermitage," Evan smiled, knowing she'd be envious but determined not to admit it.

"Be careful," Elaine said, her tone full of love and concern. "And don't leave it so long between calls next time."

"Yes Ma'am," he returned teasingly. "And stop worrying about me ... I'll be fine."

"Okay," Elaine paused for a moment and then said quietly, "Love you."

"Love you too," Evan replied just as quietly. He said goodbye quickly, emotions brimming to the surface again. Putting the phone back in its cradle he nodded to the desk clerk on duty and then ran up the stairs, two at a time.

Back in his room, lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling, he could almost laugh at himself. It was beyond ridiculous that a man of his age and experience could be almost brought to tears just by the sound of his sister's voice. He was homesick, although he'd always hated that description for the natural yearning one might feel for the familiar, particularly in the midst of situations alien to it.

Truth be known, he missed his family ... he missed being home ... but he wasn't ready to return. Not yet.

Authors Note:

I feel like I need to apologise for John's fate ... I am sorry if I upset anyone. Imagine how I feel ... I'm very attached to all my OCs but for this piece I needed a strong enough driver for Lorne to leave his military life behind for a while. As well there's the simple truth that we all lose people, in the military I imagine more than most ... it's an aspect I always wondered about during SGA because there was a lot of loss portrayed there without any apparent fall out. It's something about the show I always hoped wasn't realistic.

For those of you interested in seeing Paál's Depth of the Forest, I've added it to my webpage for this story. Go here:

http:// www. shaviva. com/ grandtourpictures. htm

Copy and paste this link and take out the spaces after each forward slash and do. The proper link is on my profile page so you can just click it from there too.