"Father, there are people sitting on chairs outside," Rya'c says dismally.
"They are the Madisons, our neighbors," Teal'c replies.
"How long are they going to sit there?" Rya'c asks, looking out the window with a longing on his face.
Teal'c blinks at him for a second, before he realizes the cause of his son's discomfort. "Rya'c, do you need to make waters?"
"They don't do it in front of people on this planet do they?" the teenager says.
"The humans of earth frequently do this act in front of one another, but this is only true of public restrooms, and not private houses."
"What is a restroom?" the teenager says squirming.
"That is what the people of Earth use to relieve themselves in. It's a room of the house. Come with me."
"They just go in the house! Primitives!" Rya'c explains.
"They use pipes to take all of the waste far away," Teal'c explains to his son as they prepare for a more complete tour of the house.
-0-0-0-
Rya'c suddenly feels very alone. His father is deep in kal-no-rem, and the rest of the family is asleep. It's strange to think of adults sleeping. Of course, children do it, before their primta. It's not uncommon for a child to fall asleep every now and again in the years right after. Once in a while a women very pregnant might fall into something like sleep, shortly before the child within her comes to term. And often, sleep returns to the old as the last symbiote dies within them.
His mother slept sometimes, in the last days.
He's finding it hard to remember what sleep as like. A great nothingness, he thinks, but certainly sleep was more than that.
In a Jaffa camp, there is no night. Well, of course there is night, but not night like these humans have. There is never a darkness that is not pierced by fire, never a silence that is not pierced by laughter, never this great waking nothingness.
He turns on the light.
Not because he's afraid of the dark. Jaffa aren't afraid of anything.
They showed him how to play the video game before they went to bed, and told him he could play it if he turned the volume down low. But he doesn't understand how moving your thumbs makes the things on the screen move, and every time that he tries, the figure on the screen dies a horrific death.
And it reminds him that his mother is dead.
There are books to read. Things to get him adjusted to Earth. There are travel guides meant for people coming to this country from a place called Africa, which his father told him is only a little like Jaffa culture. There are books on Earth history ranging from those meant for children to the more advanced. There are books of Tau'ri magic, which they call science.
But Rya'c doesn't feel like reading.
He starts to run through the motions with his training staff. Master Bra'tac has been telling him that a warrior must be silent, what better time to practice that skill than now. The feeling of the motions calms him. Each foot fall feels right when it is placed in the right place. Each arm feels correct only when it is swung in exactly the same way.
When he flubs a move, he makes himself do it ten times correctly, twice what Master Bra'tac requires, but he feels like he needs to punish himself right now.
He begins to spar with an imaginary enemy, but he is losing even before it begins.
Because even a Jaffa can't cheat death.
She must have been standing there for quite some time before he sees her. Standing there in her bathrobe, she almost doesn't look pregnant. He almost tosses her a stick as an invitation to join him before he remembers, and he gets angry all over again.
"You're really good," she tells him.
"I should be fighting to free my people," he says.
She considers him for a while, and then says, "There are many ways to fight."
"You know nothing of war," he sneers.
"Not so long ago in my country, there were slaves. And a lot of people didn't own slaves, but also didn't think that there was anything wrong with people owning slaves. And this women wrote a book, and she helped end ended slavery. And there was a man, even less time ago, in another country on my planet. And his people were being treated unfairly. And he taught them to make their own things, instead of buying it from another country, and he taught them to resist without fighting, and he make his country free."
"That is fine for creatures as weak as Tau'ri," Rya'c says, beginning to fling his stick in large arches again above his head. Anything to keep the tears that are brimming from falling.
"I don't know what it's like to lose a mother. But my dad walked out on me, and I know that sucked. I'm ok with your anger, kid. I'm ok with whatever you've got. And I don't want to be your mother. But I do want to take care of you. And I am gonna love ya, no matter what."
And the stick falls to the ground.
Rya'c picks it up, and they both pretend that his dropping it had nothing to do with her words.
"I know you already kel-no-reemed, but would you be interested in some tek-no-reem?" she asks, knowing they come both use some time respecting one another.
"Humans can do that?" he asks, surprised.
"Well, I try," she says, heaving her pregnant body onto the floor. She can't quite sit cross legged, but she manages to wiggle into a comfortable position that achieves the same effect.
He sits down next to her, a bit awkwardly. He's never 'reemed with a human before. When he was a boy, before he was a Jaffa, his parents used to hold him a 'reem each night to get him to fall asleep. When he was older, and his father returned from battle, or his mother and he had had a squabble about some unfinished chore, they had 'reemed. And of course, every training session with Master Bra'tec ended with it.
But she was practically a stranger.
Her mind is reaching toward his, grasping with more desperation than a Jaffa's ever would. But his mind reaches out and meets her gently.
He thought she was soft, but she's hard as nails. The pain of her childhood, the abuse he'd thrown in her face just hours ago, is fresher and deeper than he'd ever imagined.
It's worse than a battle somehow, although that doesn't make sense to the Jaffa.
He thought she was young, but she's old enough. There is some point, when you are independent enough that you don't need anyone, and yet wise enough to know that everyone needs someone, when age stops mattering. And she reached that point decades ago, when she was much younger than he is now.
Shelby is human, so she can't read his mind with the ease he reads hers with. But she knows that he is a scared little lost boy. He's scared of death, which is still so new to him, even though he grew up in a society of warriors. And he's scared that his father will not love him. And he's scared that he'll never be able to navigate this strange new planet. That he'll be a failure at human life, which would somehow be worse than any other kind of failure, because of course, humans are beneath him.
And she isn't good at radiating out a certain kind of thought. Usually when she tries, it completely breaks her concentration. Teal'c can fill her with happiness or romance or peace just by thinking it when they're connected by tek-no-rem. But, she can only give the thinnest trace of comfort, and image, and the feelings attached.
So she sends to him her baby blanket. The real thing having been lost a long time ago. Something her father had given her, at least she thinks, she can't remember a time when her father was around. But it was soft, and warm and fussy. And the outside was covered in a silk which could be rubbed against your lips to make a terrifying day palatable.
And then they pull away, and look at each other finding that hours have passed. Shelby tries to think of something to say. She wants to talk about the experience, to explain it. But it's deeper than words, and the teenager is quite right when he picks up his stick, and bashfully pretends that his step mother isn't even in the room.
"Goodnight," she says softly as she walks out of the room.
The Next Day
"Hi, I need to register my step-son for school," Shelby says meekly at the front office.
"I'll take you to the counselor," the women says taking them down several corridors before taking them to a room that looks like it's little more than a closet, even though it's nicely decorated.
"'Nother new one for you," the secretary says with a smile.
The woman smiles looking from one to the other. "My step-son just moved here from Africa. His father is at work today, so I thought I'd get him registered."
"Does he speak English?" the counselor says to Shelby.
Rya'c snorts.
Shelby gives the boy a glare, "English is his native language, as it is in some former colonial parts of Africa," Shelby says, purposely keeping the teenager's origins vague. "He reads and writes well, but he's never been to school before."
"Never been to school?" the women asks pushing the glasses up to the top of her head to get a better look at them, "How are your math skills?"
Rya'c fidgets, "I'm good at figures."
"Algebra?" the counselor presses.
Rya'c glances at his step mom.
"That's the kind of math where they put letters in."
Rya'c looks down, "I don't think we have that among the Jaffa."
Shelby rests her had on his shoulder to alleviate his shame. He shrugs it off quickly. "But I have learned my lesson well. I am a warrior," the child says proudly.
The counselor's eyebrows shoot up.
"Right, he fought his first battle not too long ago. His mother just died, and he's not too happy about the fact that his father and I moved him to America to go to school, instead of staying with a family friend and working as a soldier."
"More her than my father," he says.
"He just witnessed his mother's death?" the women asks.
"Yes, she was ill," he says, staring at the wall silently.
"And then he worked as a soldier," the women says.
"I saved my father, and my master," Rya'c says, looking at her with pride again.
"Master? Were you a slave?" the woman asks.
"We are all slaves," Rya'c says calmly.
"He means that mostly symbolically," Shelby says quickly, "His people are forced to fight for someone who claims they are god. But he was never forced to work for someone. The 'master' is the person that trained him in martial arts and meditation. His culture just didn't have schools."
"How old is he?" she asks.
"Sixteen," Shelby says.
The counselor, "With where his skills are, I just don't see how we could get him to graduate on time. He just won't have enough credits."
"We don't really expect that. What we want is for him to be safe, and to learn," Shelby says with a twist of her stomach, wondering if this was really the best thing for this child.
"We can provide that. We have a remedial math class, it's not worth any credit, but it will help him build on his basic skills. Then we can enroll him in a regular Algebra I class."
"I thought he was taking the remedial class."
"Yes, and that is to help him get through algebra. He will probably be able to take English I without too much trouble. We'll put him in a sophomore U.S. History class, since there isn't a social studies required as a freshman. Then, of course, there will be a freshman physical science. Then we might want to try a study hall. If we were pushing hard for credits I'd suggest another English or perhaps a physical education class, but as it is…"
"He'll have plenty of time to do his homework at home. I think that he would really enjoy a gym class."
The counselor sits at her computer to make a schedule. "Please have a seat."
"What is physical science?" Teal'c whispers.
"Tau'ri magic," she whispers back.
The counselor glares at her.
"That's what he calls it," she says with a shrug.
"Why are students required to learn the history of this country?" he whispers again.
Shelby shrugs, "But you'll do it."
"I can tell you the history of the Jaffa people," he offers, feeling very inadequate.
"I'd like to know some of that. Your father has told me only a little. We've mostly focused on the sparring, which I can't do until the babies come, the meditation, and the language."
"You speak Goa'uld?" Rya'c says in surprise. Shelby wasn't confident enough in her knowledge of the language to speak it the last time she visited the Jaffa camp.
"I am improving, although still…." she pauses, not remembering the correct grammar for 'not very good'.
The counselor looks up, "You're sure he isn't an English language learner? Some of them seem to speak well, but their higher language learning is compromised."
"He's bilingual. He's been speaking English and Goa'uld since birth."
"I've never heard of that language before."
"No, I doubt anyone would have," she says with a smile.
"Ok, I have your schedule here. I'll have someone show you around the first day," the counselor says.
"Just the first day?" Shelby says, "He's not used to institutions like this."
"We'll have a student volunteer take them from class to class for as long as it's necessary," the counselor assures Shelby.
"Listen, his father and I can help him with work at home. He will have plenty of time."
"That's great," the counselor says. "I'll walk through his schedule with him now. You can pick him up after school."
"That's it?" Shelby says nervously, "I took the day off…"
"There really isn't anything for you to do here," the counselor says. So Shelby gives one last smile to her Jaffa step-son, before she walks out of the school.