Hey guys. This was inspired by my friends and my sister who are painters and view the world differently then I do. Also, inspired by the fact the I LOVE Lorne!!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Evan Lorne was a painter. He remembered being a kid and falling in love with the colors and shapes of the city he grew up in. San Francisco could make everybody think they were an artist. Its buildings and people all flowing into one another and fading into the clouds…
His mother would indulge his need to paint and they would sit along side one another watching the sunrise or the wind across the bay forming white caps on the cold water. Lorne did well in school… but he often drifted off in the middle of his teachers lectures… he'd gaze out the window and dream in cobalt blue and ivy green. He'd dream of shades and shapes, sketching them without even realizing it.
Once for a class assignment the teacher had asked them to draw a picture of their family. Evan had painted blobs of various colors in front of a sparkly multi-colored washy background.
His teacher hadn't approved and tried to tell his parents that he was not at the same level as his classmates. His mother had stormed the school board to let them know about her extreme disapproval of Mr. Owens, Lorne's teacher… and super glued the painting to the refrigerator.
Evan had once decided that in order to further his art, which was a term he'd heard in a documentary on TV, he'd have to be like all the great artist of antiquity. He contemplated cutting of his ear, but when he realized how much that would hurt he decided that he'd settle for less destructive quirks.
Like wearing all of his shirts backward for an entire year or speaking in third person until his teacher gave him detention; which resulted in his mother once again storming a school board meeting and Evan getting transferred into another class.
His mother understood his quest to create a quirk; after all, great artists had something that made them different.
Evan Lorne was a painter… at least until life got in the way.
His Dad was a buttoned down teacher at a local community college. He dreamed of his son doing great things, traveling the world, making good money… going to an Ivy League school. He didn't imagine that his first child would see the world in the same tones and patterns that his wife did. He loved Evan, but being a painter was not what he wanted for his son.
His father done his best by him. Pushed him to achieve more, do better in school, get involved in sports. Evan, who wanted to make his father happy, relegated his painting to the few spare moments he had.
At first it was hard, painting was like breathing to him. Soon he realized however, that guys who were sensitive artists on the football team were popular with the ladies. So reluctantly he let painting slip into the background and let the real world take hold.
If only his father had known how big Evan's dreams really were and how far they would take him. He'd sit on the roof of their apartment building and gaze into the heavens, watching the lights of the city fade and scour the sky for the first and only stars that pierced the veil around the city.
Evan imagined that he could see the universe, he'd stare hard at the pitch sky, at least until he'd get to cold or he'd get nauseous from starring at nothing and his eyes would hurt from glaring out into space for so long with nothing to focus on.
Evan dreamed of flying, of soaring. He never told his mother, she loved him dearly but she was an artist… she dreamed of painting. He never told his father, he wanted him to do great things but… he was a teacher he dreamed of college campuses and sound the books make when the spine cracks.
He told his little sister. A baby with a bright smile, who more often than not responded to his dream with a smile and the smell that indicated she needed a diaper change.
It was in his senior year in high school that he broke the news to his parents.
That no… he wasn't going to be an artist.
And No, he wasn't going to be attending Harvard.
Evan had enlisted into the Air Force.
Evan imagined that for him the Air Force would be like a contortionist trying to fit into a box. That he'd have to bend backward and twist in odd ways in order to fit in, but it turned out that he fit in very well. Except that he was far to eager to please and far more polite than any of the other recruits that he went to basic with.
His mother had always told him that the best thing to do in a situation that made you uncomfortable was to be polite… and the Air Force made him uncomfortable.
Most of it did at least. During his first ride-along in an F-16 he'd laughed as the G's pressed him back into the seat.
During his first simulated Dog Fight as a pilot he'd given one big shout of joy as he'd pursued his "enemy."
No one that knew Lorne had a bad thing to say about him. That was what drew Jack O'Neil to him, as a recruit for the SGC. Not that they needed more pilots… but they needed strong, dependable, level headed people to keep an eye on scientists and eager young Marines who had seen to many Alien movies.
Evan for his part was excited to see something new. He'd jumped at the chance to "travel to another galaxy, visit strange new worlds, defend humanity against unimaginable alien threats." He still dreamed of the world in colors, though he kept that secret close to his heart. He was so tired of muted colors and Air Force blues… he saw in the Stargate program a way to see more… to know more… feel more…
He was recruited back Jack O'Neil himself and if Evan wanted to be honest with himself it was O'Neil that really made him join. He had a quality of experience that he wore around him like a shield; it made Evan's fingers ache to paint. Where the last year or so had been spent with pastels and colors washed out by blues and drab colors… Jack O'Neil was vibrant… as were his team and General Hammond.
It was strange… but Evan knew that he was secretly a weird-o… he just hid it better than Dr. Jackson and some of the others.
When the Atlantis Mission had first come to his attention… he didn't hesitate to take the offered position as Second-in-command. He was just a Major… and a pilot who hadn't flown in nearly a year and half… but Evan felt like he'd won the lottery, been promoted to General, been hit on by a supermodel, and been elected president on the same day.
At least until he was given access to the personal files and mission reports for Atlantis.
There was something about him, maybe it was the hair… but Evan was sure that he wasn't going to get along with Lt. Col. John Sheppard
Then there were the mission reports. John Sheppard had killed Colonel Sumner and roused a threat that in many ways rivaled the Go'auld and Ori for creepiness and hostility.
What was most troubling was report about the events that occurred on Atlantis during a freak weather anomaly, in which John Sheppard had killed an estimated seventy people with little to no support from the evacuated staff of the city. He'd read the report about the battle that had been fought to keep the city. About the loss of the young Marine, Aiden Ford…
When Evan pictured Sheppard he pictured reds and violent burning oranges… colors that reminded him of a particularly mean Drill Instructor he'd had in basic… the colors of a violent bully.
Yet, the first time he'd seen Sheppard, he'd been sitting at a table with his "team." Dr. McKay, a scientist that he had whole heartedly avoided the one time they had been at the SGC at the same time. A woman, who he assumed must be Teyla Emmagan, an alien who'd been helping them meet new people and in general find there way around this galaxy. There was a sadness around them… but they seemed hopeful and appreciative of the time together.
It wasn't the company he kept that caught Evan's attention though, it was the laughter. Loud, unrestrained, joyous peels that filled the cafeteria.
Evan picture blues and heady greens slashing across the red's he associated with his commanding officer.
Shortly after he came to Atlantis, as he learned the reigns and meet the people who lived and worked here, He learned more about John Sheppard and felt his confusion grow.
Evan expressed this to Doctor Beckett, a man that he came to know and respect while at the SGC.
Carson had told Evan all about Lt. Col. John Sheppard; who everyone, with the exception of Lorne who called him Sir, called Sheppard or John.
He told Evan all about the wraith, about John's refusal to leave anyone behind, about how he went to meet the families of all those who were lost in the siege in person. He told Evan that John and Elizabeth Weir had sat in her office talking for hours after the events that occurred during the storm. That Rodney McKay, who was notoriously arrogant and rude, respected John Sheppard and would look to him for help, where before he would work alone even if he needed help.
Evan felt other colors leaking into his vision of John Sheppard. He felt his inability to understand his commanding officer nagging at him.
It wasn't until he was asked to accompany a botanist and then later McKay to P3M-736 that he gained a real glimpse into the heart of John Sheppard. It was thanks to Ronon Dex, a man who Sheppard had no reason trust or even leave alive accept that had given his word.
It was then that Evan Lorne realized for the first time in his life that there was something he could not paint. There were no colors, no blending techniques, or shading methods that would make John Sheppard come to life on paper… no way to replicate, explain, or fully understand him.
He was like no one else he'd even met.
Next Chapter: Kolya