A/N: Thank you for reviewing and favouriting. Sorry this is so late; I got very ill for awhile.
Losing mummy - Teyla
The footsteps came steadily closer. Teyla could discern three separate footsteps, each slightly out of sync with the others. Ronon stiffened beside her, and Rodney and Jennifer rose up off the pallet to stand by the bars. Three men in a dark green uniform stopped outside John's cell. Teyla saw John trying to shift to face them, but he couldn't manage it. He closed his eyes in frustration, and Teyla's heart went out to him. Her attention was diverted back to the men who were now disengaging the force field around John's cell and unlocking the lock.
"Just checking up on our patient." The snide guard from earlier was back. He began to show a sadistic side when he moved over to where John lay and sat down on his wounded leg. John tried to bite back his cry but wasn't completely successful, and Ronon growled beside Teyla, smacking his fists off the bars. Teyla couldn't see John's face because he had buried it in bedding. The guard sniffed audibly and looked down on him. The other guards stood just in the cell with their hands held formally behind their back. They showed no reaction to anything that was going on around them, staring straight a head at the opposite wall in a true show of stoicism. "Stand up, we'll give you a physical." He barked out a laugh at his own joke, and Dr Keller began to mutter 'oh, no' under breath.
"What do you want of him?" Teyla kept her voice steady and controlled.
"We want the stars." Jumping to his feet, he motioned one of the other guards forward. He stood smiling at the team as the other man pulled back the material on Sheppard's leg, ripping it roughly from where it had stuck in the dried blood, checking the wound. He then took John's temperature and blood pressure with devices that might have been used on Earth a hundred years ago. Getting up, he nodded at the sadistic guard, who then nodded at John and tapped his leg. John grit his teeth and said nothing, his face still buried. "That's it. All done. 'Till tomorrow, Ancient man." The three briskly left, locking the cell and turning on the force field before they disappeared down the corridor.
"Sheppard, are you alright?" Jennifer got a grunt in reply. "What's wrong with your leg? What happened?" He shifted a little bit so he could speak clearly.
"They were trying to strap me onto some table, but I fought them and was overwhelmed. It got impaled on some.. metal thing, I'm not sure really 'cause they drugged me just after." His voice sounded weak and distant; he was struggling to get the words out.
"Does it burn?"
"No, I don't think it's infected."
"Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"Just some bruises." The last word came out barely intelligible.
"What's wrong? You look awful. Oh!" Covering her mouth in mortification at what she had just said, he just smiled wanly.
"Some… drug. The migraine's making me sick."
"What did the drug do to you?" Teyla felt that maybe now wasn't the best time to be asking questions. He was getting steadily weaker, his voice harder to hear.
"Made me… see stuff."
"What?"
"Hm." He stopped talking after that, regardless of what he was asked. Jennifer eventually stopped, but she looked worried.
"Keller, what…?" Ronon wasn't sure what to ask.
"Um, well, it could be many things. I mean, Earth has loads of mind-altering drugs. Who knows what they have here, especially if it unlocks the Ancient gene. It's effecting his body really bad, though. They probably have no idea about safe doses and things like that."
"I doubt they care." Jennifer looked at Ronon sadly.
" I think you're right."
This had been going on for weeks. John felt so alone, but he couldn't keep from going home any longer; it was already dark. His curfew was six, but this was a test, after all. The test was that he had to be late. The streets were pretty intimidating at night, though… With all those looming hedges… John quickened his pace. It wasn't good for a twelve year old to be out at night. He'd seen the videos at school. It was dangerous.
It had been three months since the Big Argument with his dad, and it had been just a week longer since his mum had died. The worst months of his short life, he hadn't only lost his mother… he'd lost his dad as well.
Patrick Sheppard hadn't said a word to his son since the funeral, not a word of love, affection or anger. He came home from school everyday to a quiet house, where no one spoke to him. His dinner was put in front of him, but he was not acknowledged when he tried to become involved in the conversation between his brother and father. John didn't think his brother was angry with him, just following his father's lead. David had always been good that way.
Mother had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at the age of seventeen. Father had married her anyway. He was in love, after all. They had an amazing fifteen years, and then she went steadily downhill. Lots of hospital time. Her vision was the first thing to begin to go. It tore the family apart. No one had anything to say to each other because no one wanted to acknowledge that something was wrong. The adults didn't cope well with her losing her sight, they didn't adjust, and the awkwardness made things worse for the children who could hardly understand. His mum coped with it the best; she took each new turn for the worse with stoic acceptance. She never showed any indication of her pain to her children, and if she occasionally broke down when it was just herself and her husband- well, she was entitled to that.
Then she died. Not of MS, but from an overdose on her pain medication. She did it at hospital, so it was a nurse who found her, not Patrick. John didn't think his dad could have coped if it had been him. In his grief Patrick Sheppard had been very blunt with his sons. He told them out right that she had commit suicide, no censure. He sat on a plastic chair with his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on his knees. John and David stood in front of him, paralysed. Then their father continued to talk, and he was angry.
How could she have deprived him of their last few months together? They had still had time. He had never thought her a coward, but here she had taken her own life. This was the trail of thought his mind took; then John spoke his.
"She wasn't a coward! She did it for us!" He really believed that. His mother had seen how her illness had tore them apart. She wanted to spare them from having to watch her get worse. They all knew it would get worse; her limbs would go, her senses… She was so loved by everyone it would have crushed them to watch her deteriorate. John's dad wasn't in the frame of mind to hear this. He was so cut uphe couldn't see straight, even if that meant arguing with a child who had just lost his mother.
And they did argue. It got so heated, with both of them shouting, that a nurse had come along and asked them to leave. David just stood there. The car ride home was silent, and when they got home John just went to bed. When he woke up in the morning and went down to breakfast, things were still silent. Not a muttered 'hello'. And that's how things stayed.
So here he was, just closing the front door behind him; glancing at the clock beside the hall telephone, he saw it was just after eight. He saw his father sitting in an arm chair in the sitting room. John went to stand in the door way- there was no reaction. John almost cried when he realised his father hadn't been worried that he was late. He hadn't worried at all. Running up to his room, John refused to cry as he slammed the door behind him.
He would not cry.
His father's anger spanned years. He never got over it, not that John could see. Patrick Sheppard became a shell of a man after his wife died, driven only by his business… and John was never counted as his little boy again.
A/N: I know I keep doing scenes with Sheppard all tired and a little out of it, but what can I say; I love a sleepy Sheppard! Do I need to change my rating?
