Hi all, this is just a quick update and I know this chapter is a lot shorter than most, but there'll be a few of these before I get to the main event. With the next few episodes of the show mostly Team Sheppard centric I couldn't put Sierra in the mix easily. So this chapter is on another of Sierra and her team's missions. All these bridging chapters will be called "Transition" chapters. Please keep an eye out for the next chapter soon.
Mail Bag:
To jasminesmommy, I wish someone had decked him too, but at least Teyla does in The Siege. I am thinking of having another altercation with Sierra and Bates somewhere down the track because I can so see those two butting heads way too often. And thanks for correcting me on the name of the first Wraith. I've fixed it up, cheers!
To BlueDragon007, thanks; its good to hear that people are still enjoying this story. And please let me know if I'm prattling on too much. Thank you so much :)
To PyroDragon2006, thanks very much for your insight. I do realize that it would never happen that way in real life, but as you said, the SGC and Atlantis have been pretty lax on those kind of regs. And I always imagined the Sheppards as being ones to break those regs (as John Sheppard has already shown us). And I'm glad that the twins relationship is working. I wasn't sure I got it right, but I'm glad you're enjoying it. Cheers.
To Shilhi, thanks very much for your review. I'm glad you're enjoying this!
-----Chapter 12 – Transitions Part 1 – Childhood's End-----
M8K-434 was turning out to be a rather seedy planet for Sierra's team's recon mission. It was one of the few inhabited planets that they had come across, though the locals were turning out to be… cautious of strangers. The group from the village, that was a fifteen minute walk from the 'gate, who met them when they arrived were tough, armed and hostile.
Sierra, using her Sheppard charms, had managed to bargain one night's stay out of the village's mayor, and they were currently sitting in the local pub over a meal. The local patrons kept their distance from the visitors, watching them with a stony silence broken occasionally by a hushed conversation. Sierra was sure she spied the barkeeper repeatedly putting his hand on something under the bar.
"This is creepy, Ma'am," Stackhouse whispered to her, over the rim of his ale mug. Sierra's eyes refused to rest on one single subject and kept darting around the room.
"I know what you mean," she hissed back.
"Any idea why they are so jittery about strangers?" Markham asked as he picked at the crust of his bread roll.
Sierra pursed her lips and shook her head. "Nope. It could be that they've had bad experiences in the past with people coming through the 'gate. Or it could have something to do with the Wraith terrorizing them."
"If that were the case, though," Cole spoke up, leaning forwards, "then why is the village so close to the 'gate? You would think that they'd move somewhere more secluded."
Sierra shrugged. "Maybe they haven't been Culled in a long time and they've become complacent." Though by the looks of them she wasn't sure that was the case. "Or maybe the Wraith aren't their main problem. Perhaps there's some thing else going on." She bit her lip for a moment. "In any case, I don't reckon they'll be all that receptive to an alliance."
Her teammates nodded in agreement. They ate their meal in an attentive silence, eyes darting everywhere, muscles tensed and ready for anything.
Markham, who had just drained his tankard of water (they had refused the local ale as there was no telling what it was made of, and that they were technically 'on duty'), needed to use the bathroom. Standing and pushing his chair back, he inadvertently bumped a passing patron, causing the man to drop his fifth mug of ale.
A deathly silence fell over the bar, all eyes falling to Markham's frozen figure and the man and the clay mug as it rolled under a table. The man was a good foot taller than Markham, and built like a battleship. His muscles mixed with body fat gave him a very dangerous bulk that was worthy of any biker-gang member. Light stubble covered his chin while his shaven scalp gleamed in the primitive lantern lighting of the bar. His clothes were covered in dark stains, and his mole skin vest was worn and threadbare in several places. There was a knife on his belt and a short sword on his hip. Sierra's hand drifted to the berretta on her thigh while she stood as well.
"I – I'm sorry, Sir," Markham stuttered, moving away from the man, who looked like he was about to kill someone. "I didn't see you there. I'm sorry."
Sierra came to stand just behind Markham as the man turned to give him a scathing look. His face was round with small, piggy eyes that were the colour of coal in the dimly lit bar. The nostrils of his flat, wide nose flared and he took a step toward him.
"You a clumsy one, ain't you, boy," he growled. "Tha' was a fresh tankard, too – I says you owe me two drinks for 'at 'un now." The man reached out a meaty hand and grabbed Markham by the collar, practically yanking him off his feet. "You agree, boy?"
Sierra could see that her teammate was terrified. She doubted that the kid had ever been in a bar fight before.
"Take your hands off my friend," she said in her most commanding and threatening tone. "Now." Sierra, however, had seen her fair share of pub brawls. Also, she'd seen a fair few Clint Eastwood movies with her father.
The man looked over at her, blinking in surprise at her presence. Then he snorted. "You gonna make me, sweet'art?" he said, a fiendish smirk coming to his ugly face. He looked her up and down. "I'll let 'im go, darlin', if you does me a little favor." From the other side of the bar, a group of men of similar stock to Ugly gave a loud snicker, and Sierra had no doubt as to what that favor would entail.
From the corner of her eye she saw Stackhouse and Cole stand as well and move to flank her; Stackhouse to her left and Cole, the taller of the two, close to Ugly's right hand that held Markham. The young sergeant's eyes were wide and fixated on his captor.
"Oh, I see 'ow it is," Ugly said. He jerked his head to Cole and Stackhouse. "You lot take turns do ye? She must be pretty damn fine to keep you fellas about." Sierra saw her teammate's hands inch towards their weapons. Even Markham scowled at him. "How 'bout I take 'er off ye hands, lads?" Ugly's smile grew and he chuckled as his friends began to howl with laughter behind them.
Sierra's hand tightened on her 9mm and over the man's shoulder she saw Cole lift his arm and shape it to karate-chop his neck.
"No!" she cried out just as the lieutenant struck the unsuspecting patron in his neck, forcing him to the floor. Markham was released from his grip and he staggered back as Ugly hit the floor with a thud. The next thing they knew, every man in the bar stood and drew knifes from various places on their persons. Ugly's friends in the corner had gone silent and were menacingly moving towards Sierra and her teammates.
Sierra whipped her hand away from her sidearm and grabbed her P-90 from where it lay on the table and aimed it at the nearest patron. Cole and Stackhouse followed her example, while Markham whipped out his 9mm, as he had left his bigger gun on the table when he had needed to use the bathroom. The four of them tightened the ranks to cover each other as they stood at a stale mate in the middle of hostile territory. Sierra's eyes flicked to the door.
"We don't want any trouble," she said slowly and loudly, glancing around the bar. "We will leave now, if you let us. Please." She wondered briefly if it was really necessary to be polite to these people, when all they had done to them was be ignorant and unfriendly to them from the second they arrived.
Stepping over the man on the floor, Sierra closed ranks with her team. "Easy, guys," she said softly to them. "Just move slowly. It's OK." Keeping their guns trained on the patrons, they began to move as one to the door. None of them saw the guy on the floor move until it was too late.
Ugly, moving faster than anyone his size should, rolled onto his back and whipped the knife from his belt. With the force of a moving car, he sat up and thrust the knife into the closest of the visitors: Sierra.
The knife, about four inches long, slid into Sierra's abdomen with the ease of a well-sharpened blade. She gasped in shock, the pain so unbelievably excruciating that the air was driven from her lungs.
"Bitch," the man hissed at her. Stackhouse, seeing the whole thing unfold, turned his weapon on Ugly and shot a single round into his chest. The force of the bullet made the man fly backwards, ripping the knife from Sierra's gut as he did. His body hit the ground with another heavy thud. He was dead.
Pain ripped through her body and she screamed in agony. Her P-90 fell from her grasp, but she felt Markham scoop it up as he caught her as she collapsed to the dirty floor of the bar.
Around her she was aware of shouting and another few shots fired, before all fell silent again. Amidst the cries of pain from some of the patrons she heard Cole speak.
"Back off, everyone! Now! We're going to leave, OK? Just let us pass and we will leave and not come back, alright? No one else needs to die tonight! Just let us pass!" There was angry murmuring from the patrons as Sierra felt Markham sling her arm over his shoulder and drag her across the floor. Fire raced up and down her side with every step and she tried not to cry out every time.
Soon, they reached the door and passed through without incident. The night was cold and Sierra shivered. Passing through the town was as unsettling as passing through the bar; everywhere eyes followed them, hostile and unfriendly. Behind them several patrons of the bar followed them, no doubt making sure they left and probably waiting for one of them to drop their guard enough to take a stab at them. However, they didn't pass the edge of the village and shouted and jeered at them as they made their way back in the direction of the 'gate.
Once they were out of sight of the village, they stopped and Markham lay Sierra down on a patch of grass beside the road. Using the torches, Cole dug out the medical kit and assessed Sierra's wound. She cried out as his fingers felt along her side.
"Who fired the shots?" Sierra demanded in between gasps of air.
"Stackhouse fired the kill shot," Cole answered, sounding a little impressed despite himself. Sierra knew that Cole had some kind of gripe with Stackhouse ever since the sergeant had compared him to David Hasselhoff. "I fired two. But only into shoulders and calves; and Markham fired one into the ceiling," he added reassuringly as he rooted through the medical kit.
Sierra nodded. "Stackhouse? Where's Stackhouse?"
The sergeant appeared next to her. He looked stressed and about to be sick. "Here, Ma'am."
"I know you've shot someone before," she said, hissing in pain, "but that was the first man you've killed. I wish I could say that it'll be the last, but I doubt it. No matter what anyone tells you it was in the defense of a fellow soldier, a teammate. OK?"
Stackhouse nodded, not looking any less stricken. "Yes, Ma'am." Sierra nodded back.
After that, everything started going hazy as her adrenaline kick fizzled out. She knew she was loosing a lot of blood. Her hand found Stackhouse's and she clung to it, while the other became bunched in the front of Cole's jacket. Markham had folded up a spare jacket from someone's pack and tucked it under her head while mumbling assurances to her. His words faded in and out of focus.
Blood flowed from the wound, numbing her to everything and making her eyelids heavy. Her team was shouting at her to stay with them, to keep her focus and she tried, she really tried, but her eyes just wouldn't stay open.
Pain laced through her side as Cole pressed a field bandage to her side. She then had no trouble staying awake as Cole tied it around her waist, agony flaring at the lightest pressure.
Then Cole picked her up and carried her, while the sergeants led the way down the road back to the Stargate. Every jostle caused flaring pain to her whole being and she groaned with every step. It was very hard not to. She was sure she passed out at some stage, because the next thing she saw was the kawoosh of the 'gate opening and heard Stackhouse reporting a medical emergency.
The Gate Room was mercifully warmer than the cold night of M8K-434. She was set down on a gurney and wheeled to the Infirmary. Cole jogged to keep up with the gurney, and she heard the footfalls of her other teammates immediately behind them. She must have passed out again, because the next thing she knew, Carson was leaning over her dressed in powder blue scrubs, mask and hat while a nurse slid rubber gloves onto his hands.
"Don't worry, Captain," he said to her. "You're gonna be just fine."
An anesthesia mask was placed over her face and the nurse encouraged her to breath deep. Mercifully, she slid into darkness.
-----XXX-----
The gentle beeping of machines and hushed conversations were what woke her. Warm fuzziness flowed through her veins and she thanked the lords for morphine. Groaning and opening her eyes, she saw that it was dark in the Infirmary.
The conversations around her ceased and someone tentatively stepped up to her cot. Sierra had to blink her eyes a few times to focus on the figure and saw the blond halo of Cole's hair.
"Evening, Captain," he said softly as Markham and Stackhouse appeared on her other side. "How do you feel?"
Sierra closed her eyes for a moment and assessed herself. All she could feel was pain-free bliss.
Smiling lopsidedly she said, "I'll be good as long as the morphine lasts." Her teammates smiled back at her while Stackhouse disappeared for a moment.
"How long was I out?" she asked.
Markham shrugged. "Not long," he said. "The rest of the day." The mission had been an early start, leaving at 04:00 to catch whatever light was left on M8K-434. Judging from the darkness of the Infirmary, Sierra guessed it was around 21:00. That meant her brother would be back from his mission soon.
And almost as though she'd wished him into existence, John came bustling around the privacy curtain that had been drawn. Cole stepped aside so he could come to stand next to her, near her head. He touched a hand to her hair, concern etched in deep lines on his face. He was babbling before he even knew it.
"I just got in," he was saying. "Elizabeth said that you were in the Infirmary but I didn't know what happened. I ran into Stackhouse on the way in – he said you got stabbed in a bar fight! I can't believe you got into another pub brawl! I thought you'd learnt your lesson last time." His concerned gaze had turned into one of frustration.
Sierra frowned at him, fully aware that her teammates' ears were pricked. "Hey," she said back indigently. "I didn't start this one! And I didn't start that last one. If you remember, I was trying to keep your ass from being beaten to a pulp."
"You ended up in the hospital for four days!" he said his voice raising two octaves. "I'd say you were the one beaten to a pulp." He stood back and crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. "This time you get stabbed." He snorted unattractively. "And you think I'm the one who attracts trouble."
Sierra huffed, balling her fists in the sheets. Muttering incoherently she turned to face away from John, who did the same, seeing how she was sulking. She didn't think he was right (even though he partly was); she just thought it was pointless to argue with him any further. That and the fact that the morphine had begun to wear off and her side hurt like hell.
At that moment, Carson burst through the curtain, followed by a sheepish Stackhouse, and fixed the Sheppard twins with a death glare.
"What the bloody hell do ye think you two are doin'?" he practically yelled. Sierra and John both turned toward him, surprised at the volume Carson was using – he never yelled. "You–" he stabbed a finger at John, "aren't helpin' her recovery one bit. And you–" he turned his finger on Sierra, "should be gettin' your rest or I'll be puttin' you in Isolation 'til I deem you fit for duty!" He then threw his hands in the air, and started waving them about like he was shooing pigeons. "Off with you, all of ye! Now! Get!"
They got. John looked at his feet guiltily, and tucked his hands inside the arm-holes of his Kevlar vest. He cast one more chiding look in her direction, which turned apologetic as soon as he took in the sheen of perspiration on her face that had appeared in the last minute. Markham and Stackhouse were both hiding grins and trying to look concerned at the same time, while Cole's eyebrows seemed to fluctuate between scowling and distress.
Beckett had begun to give her another dose of morphine, and all of a sudden their expressions became the most amusing thing. Sierra burst out laughing at their retreating backs, only to be rewarded with confused stares and agonizing pain in her side. Between gasps of pain and hiccups of laughter, she somehow managed to wave them all off and lay back on the bed.
Carson stood over her with an exasperated expression as her laughing fit died down. She bit her lip against the giggles still bubbling at the surface.
"Sorry, Carson," she said as apologetically as she could manage. The doctor sighed.
"I may have given you a wee bit too much." He sighed. "Just promise me you'll try and get some sleep?"
"Aye aye, Doc!" Sierra said with a salute and way too much enthusiasm. Carson rolled his eyes and left as the giggling started up again.
-----XXX-----
Eventually the morphine high wore off and Sierra was able to sleep again. The next time she woke up she heard the gentle breathing of someone asleep. Rolling her head toward the sound, she saw that John had returned (no doubt having snuck back in) and had fallen asleep with his head on the side of her cot. The rest of his body sat in the chair next to her bed, his head resting on his arms. His mouth was open slightly and he was drooling on his watch.
Sierra smiled. Any frustrations she had against her brother from earlier quickly evaporated as she gently reached over and prodded his shoulder.
After a little encouragement, John's head shot up like a kid who'd been caught sleeping in class. He looked around him for a moment and then looked at her sheepishly.
"Hey, 'Erra," he said softly. A guilty look came into his eyes. "How're you feeling?"
Sierra shrugged. "Not too bad," she replied. "A lot better than before. You should be in bed."
It was John's turn to shrug as he sat back in the chair, shifting it to face her. "Couldn't sleep," he said simply.
Sierra gave him a concerned look. She had a feeling that would have been the case. Sierra was the only one who knew that John had nightmares almost every night.
They chatted for a little while in hushed voices so as not to disturb the other patients in the Infirmary. Then the topic came to John's last mission.
"Those kids," he said, shaking his head slightly. "They grew up always knowing that they were gonna die before they reach twenty-five. And they were glad to do it, too, because they never knew any better."
"But now that you've extended the field," Sierra said reassuringly, "They'll be able to live their lives out properly."
John nodded. "Those kids are gonna be in for a big surprise – grey hairs, losing hairs, facial hairs. Then there's wrinkles, menopause, mid-life crisis, saggage–"
He cut off as Sierra burst into muffled laughter. John, seemed to backpedal over what he had last said and ducked his head in embarrassment, before laughing quietly with her.
Finally their laughter died down and Sierra fell back against the pillow gasping and clutching her side. "You OK?" John asked her.
She nodded and eased herself back up the bed head again. John told her about Keras, the "Elder" of the village and how he was preparing himself for his sacrificial suicide when they'd arrived. He also told her about the "villagers" that Rodney made cry, and about how they all saved the day. Once he had finished his story he yawned, trying to conceal it and failing miserably.
Sierra nudge him toward the Infirmary door. "Go to bed, John," she scolded. "You won't be able to function tomorrow otherwise." She knew first hand how dysfunctional Sheppards were in the mornings.
He half shrugged as he put his hand to his mouth to stifle another yawn, and then nodded. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "You win."
Sierra smiled back at him brightly. As he started to stand, the curtain opened and Cole backed into the small space carrying a tray piled high with food and drink. The lieutenant froze when he saw John standing in front of Sierra defensively.
She shot her brother a disapproving look and slapped his arm. "John, go to bed for Christ's sake," she said. "You're jumping at shadows."
John frowned back at her and then bent to kiss her head. He then left, brushing past Cole without a word.
Cold stood awkwardly at the foot of Sierra's bed, like he wasn't sure if he should be here or not. Sierra raised an eyebrow at him.
"Is that for me?" she asked. "Or just for show?"
Cole shook off his awkwardness and proceeded further into the space. He smiled at her, helping her organize the tray table over the bed and placed the tray in front of her.
Sierra pounced on it, suddenly hungry and started devouring the pasta cacciatore that had no doubt been served it the Mess for dinner that night. Cole waited patiently in the chair with an amused smile on his face while Sierra finished her meal. She hiccupped as she pushed the tray table away.
"Ugh, thank you," she said, taking a large swig of water from the glass Cole had brought with the meal. "Wow – I really needed that. Cheers Cole."
He nodded at her. "You are most welcome. I remember Markham and Stackhouse complaining about the food last time they were in here, so I figured you might appreciate that." Sierra smiled her thanks at him. "And my body clock has been reconfigured so I was going to head to the gym for a couple of hours, see if I could reset it with fatigue. But that didn't work."
Sierra laughed lightly. "That sounded like it was a good idea," she said. "I'm envious of Stackhouse and Markham, though. Those two have no trouble with that at all."
"Oh, to by young again, huh?"
She laughed again. "Yeah, something like that."
Cole jerked his head toward the door of the Infirmary. "The major having the same problem?" he asked.
Sierra made a face. "Nah, he just worries unnecessarily."
Cole cocked a rather thick, blonde eyebrow at her. "Not unnecessarily," he corrected. "We were all worried about you."
"It is unnecessary. I was always gonna be fine," she argued.
The lieutenant shook his head. "You didn't see it from our perspective, Ma'am," he said. "It was down-right scary seeing you so pale and bleeding so much. We all thought you were going to die." Cole's cobalt blue eyes were slightly glassy as he remembered the mission. His eyebrows were creased together in worry, and Sierra couldn't help but think that his face was familiar in some way, like he looked like someone else for a moment.
The moment passed as Cole shook himself of the memory and looked at her again. He shrugged one shoulder. "So do you need a hand writing your report?" he asked changing the subject. Leaning forward slightly he pulled a notepad from the waistband of his BDUs.
Sierra smiled and nodded as he pulled a pen from his top pocket. As she settled into her dictation of what happened on M8K-434, she thought about how lucky she was to get a 2IC like Cole; he was loyal, helpful and dedicated to her and the team like he was to military. He believed in her, that much she could tell, they all did; and she was grateful.
She just hoped she could live up to their expectations.
-----XXX-----
A/N: Now I know this chapter was short, but there is more to come. If you couldn't tell, this was set during Childhood's End. Please stay tuned for the next chapter set during Poisoning the Well.
Please review – I love it when you do!
