My comment fic entries
Thought I'd post the two comment fics I did over at sgahcchallenges here on my own LJ. These were such a blast to read and write, and if you haven't checked out all the comment fics yet, do so! There are some really good ones!
SANTA’S BOOMING WORKSHOP
The civilian contingent had spread out over the inhabited zone of Atlantis, dotting the city with lab after lab after lab from the first day the expedition arrived in Pegasus. Biology labs, zoology labs, chemistry labs, medical labs, physics labs-every lab imaginable doing every experiment imaginable and then some.
John’s favorite lab, however, was one of the large engineering ones on the north side of the city. It wasn’t so much a lab as it was a tinkering mechanic’s heaven. And more of a remodeled cargo hold. The room was nearly the size of a football field, with little rooms off to the side, and experiments and inventions in every square inch of space. Even some of the Marines had cleared small areas for their own tinkering.
On days off, John would meander through the room, looking over people’s shoulders, sometimes giving someone a hand. There were engines of all shapes and sizes, telescopes, microscopes, stuff involving optics and lasers, wheels, robots, levers-some of it practical tools and devices but most of it toys. Their very own Santa’s Workshop.
Add in a little Ancient tech, and Santa’s elves were creating awesome toys. Hovering remote-control toy jumper awesome.
John was in the control room when the first alarms went off. He crossed the room in three long steps to the map, saw the flashing red dot over the workshop and sprinted toward the transporter, yelling out orders for a fire suppression unit and a medical team. Lorne met up with him half way, a team of Marines at his back.
“Explosion in the workshop,” John huffed as he ran. He saw Lorne nod, picking up the pace.
“Bound to happen eventually.”
“If they destroyed my remote-control jumper, heads will roll.”
The doors to the workshop flew open as they approached and John caught the faint scent of burning rubber. There was no smoke, however, or flames, or an irritatingly calm computer voice counting down the destruction of the entire city. Whatever had exploded had had the courtesy to do it in one of the small rooms off to the side, far away from John and Radek’s toy jumper project.
John and Lorne weaved through the tables toward the corner of the workshop, the first trails of smoke finally visible through a crack in the door. The four-man Marine unit followed them, grabbing metal bars at John’s command. John could hear voices on the other side of the door yelling for help and banging against the metal frame, the noise coalescing with the urgent but calm voices shouting out orders through his radio earpiece and the grunts of men trying to pry open the unresponsive Ancient door. The smoke was getting thicker and darker, the smell pungent.
Between him, Lorne, and the four Marines, the door was not much of an obstacle-Ancient design be damned. Two engineers fell out of the opening, collapsing to the ground in a coughing heap of soot and charred clothing.
“What happened?” John asked, leaning toward the nearest engineer and speaking loud enough to get the dazed man’s attention.
The man blinked, shaking his head. A line of blood dripped down the side of his face from a small cut on his cheek. “Over…overload,” he rasped out. “Not sure…”
“Was it just the two of you in there?”
The man started, looking around. “Three-there were three of us.”
John would have said more, but something popped in the room behind him, and the burning smell got worse. The engineer he’d been talking to dissolved into a fit of coughing, and John stepped back to let two of the Marines manhandle the injured man away from the door.
“Lorne, get these men away from here. The medics should be hitting the outer hall any minute now, and if something else in there explodes, I don’t know want anyone else getting hurt.”
The major was already moving, grabbing three of the four Marines with them to help the two injured men across the workshop. John signaled to the fourth.
“There’s one more guy in there. Stay a few feet behind me and keep your eyes on the door. That smoke is getting thick and I don’t want to lose our exit.”
“Yes, sir.”
John ducked into the room, crouching as low to the ground as he could without compromising his speed. Smoke peeled across the ceiling in waves. He’d never been into this particular room, and the flickering lights overhead were making it impossible to see anything. The far side of the room was filled with three large metal boxes, connected to an array of computer consoles with every type of wire imaginable. The smallest of the metal boxes-he honestly had no idea what they were supposed to be just by looking at them-was sparking and hissing, spewing inky black smoke.
“Hey! Anyone in here?” John yelled out. His voice thundered in the small space, sounding muted and amplified all at the same time. The small sparking box popped in response, a booming clap that had John hitting the ground and wrapping his arms over his head.
He paused, waiting for the eminent explosion. When nothing happened, he looked around. Arms of flame, angry red against the black smoke, were now flicking out of the top of the box. He pushed himself to his knees and looked around again, coughing at the smoke and the invading odor of burning paint, rubber, metal, and plastic.
“Here…”
He heard the soft whisper and looked over just in time to see a white sleeve waving at him. He crawled forward, wary of the building smoke. He should have at least covered his mouth and nose, but it hadn’t been that bad when he ran in. The smoke had been high and flowing across the ceiling, not drifting toward the ground in an ominous cloud.
John reached the third engineer and yanked the man forward. The hissing metal box had pissed off its neighbor, and its neighbor was a much larger metal box with a lot more pieces hanging off it. John ducked as sparks jumped along the wires connecting the two boxes-and really, what the hell were these guys doing in here?-forcing the semi-conscious engineer along.
“Sergeant?” he yelled out when he thought he could see the door.
“Right here, sir,” the man answered back, and both metal boxes answered with a pop and spitting burst of flames.
John looked around, eyes and throat burning, and just saw the sergeant on hands and knees in front of him, a silhouette against the door. He pushed the engineer toward the Marine, letting the other man take the now-unconscious man’s weight, and followed them, his lungs aching for the beckoning fresh air.
The lab-as most labs on Atlantis seemed to do eventually-exploded. At least that’s what if felt like to John. One second he was crawling toward the open door, the next he felt a roar of heat and smoke rush over him. The sound hit a second later, a sonic boom that thudded through his very core. He felt a sharp crack of pain across his chest and arm, and then nothing.
“Colonel Sheppard?” The voice was familiar but muffled, and sounding slightly panicked. “Colonel, where are you?”
John blinked open his eyes to see the same dark smoke swirling above him. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long, if at all. Same smoke, same hissing, popping metal boxes, same burning ache in his throat and lungs. He should have waited for the fire unit, but then he remembered the unconscious engineer and the explosion, and he wondered if the man would have survived if he’d waited.
Or if he was even alive now. He couldn’t see him or the sergeant anywhere. Tables and computer consoles and other unidentifiable pieces of metal lay strewn across the lab. John was tucked into a corner, about as far away as he could get from the angry boxes but buried in debris. He pushed at the piece laying across his chest then whimpered in pain when it only dug deeper into his chest and arm.
“Colonel?” Lorne yelled again. John rolled his head to the side and saw the major sliding across the ground toward him, a smudge of black against gray.
“Lorne,” John called out, then coughed, then moaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, panting against too little oxygen and too much pressure on his ribs.
“Sir,” Lorne’s voice sounded near his head, and he opened his eyes to see the major’s dirt covered face staring down at him. “How badly are you hurt?”
John licked his lips, dreading speaking but knowing he had to. “Chest hurts, and arm. Can’t-” he stopped, coughing again and sending a flood of pain cascading through his entire body. He lifted his free arm to point toward half console pinning him to the floor. “Too heavy.”
“Got it, sir,” the major answered, also coughing, but he’d had the presence of mind to cover his mouth and nose with a cloth. “On three-one, two, three!”
Lorne pulled, and John pushed with one hand until the console fell away from him, crying out at both the instant relief from the pressure and the pulsing ache that danced across his ribs like the sparks of electricity shooting along the wires behind Lorne’s head, back and forth between the two boxes. John gasped, sucking in a lungful of air that did little to ease the tightness in his lungs. He banged his left arm against the ground, but the right-the one that had been pinned against his chest beneath the console-lay inert.
Lorne was coughing again, then suddenly leaning over John’s head and wiping a sleeve across his forehead. “I need to get you out of here and I can’t wait for the medical team,” he yelled, and John suddenly noticed that there was a lot more noise in the room. The two little angry boxes were almost shaking with rage now, igniting the fury in the final and largest box in the room. It occurred to John that he should name the boxes, and he glared at the blinking lights on the large box. It glared back, eyes glowing red.
“Sir!”
“What?” John asked, his eyes sliding back Lorne’s face, pale and dirty and worried. He dragged in another breath and felt the room spin, but at least he didn’t cough.
“Are you hurt anywhere else? Your back or neck?”
John shook his head, not daring to speak. Whatever was sparking along the ceiling was now in his throat and lungs. He felt a hand on his shoulder and then Lorne disappeared, but John could still hear him. A pressure he hadn’t realized was there suddenly lifted from his legs, and he winced as he flexed his feet. Bruised, but not broken.
“Here we go, Colonel. This is going to hurt like hell, so I apologize in advance and don’t demote me.”
John blinked up at Lorne, only catching half of what the man said, and then Angry Big Brother Box blew its top-literally. Flames leapt from it, locks of fiery-red hair standing on end. John smiled and would have laughed, but Lorne chose that moment to pick him up under his arms and drag him across the room, and his voice caught in his throat. John saw the smaller metal boxes bowing into the heat of big brother, and then his broken arm banged against the doorframe and everything faded.
“Good morning, sir,” the major said, making a show of knocking against the curtain.
John scowled, pressing his head against the pillow because damn his head hurt. And his arm. And his chest. And the nasal cannula itched-although it was a tad better than the mask had been.
“I won’t ask how you’re feeling,” Lorne said, trying and failing to hide his grin.
“That would be wise for your career,” John rasped, his scowl deepening at the burning ache in his throat. “Thank you, by the way-for the whole, you know…”
“Yes, sir,” Lorne said. “I was just checking on Dr. Greensburg and thought I’d see how you were doing?”
“Greensburg?”
“Engineer number three. Doc says he’ll be fine in a few days.”
John nodded. At least that made one of them. He, on the other hand, would be lounging around the infirmary and his room for the next couple of weeks nursing a couple of bruised ribs, a broken arm and a mild concussion-not to mention the whole smoke-inhalation problem. No one else involved in this whole mess had been required to spend more than a few hours in the infirmary.
“What were they working on in there anyway?” Because he couldn’t get the image of those three pissed-off box faces with fire for hair out of his head.
“You know, I asked about that and all three were very eager to tell me what they were working on, but I’ll be damned if I understood a word they said. You might want to get the translation from Zelenka on that one. Oh, and while you’re at, you may also want to ask him about your toy jumpers.”
“Right, whatever.” John sighed, rolling the tension out of his shoulders and feeling the pull of sleep. Lorne waved then disappeared around the curtain, and John closed his eyes, knowing someone would be around soon to check on him. He was determined to get in a nap before then, and maybe even… Wait. Ask Zelenka about his…
“What about my jumpers? Lorne!!”
END
LET IT SNOW, LET IT SNOW
It was pure chance that John, Teyla and Torren ended up stranded just outside of John’s hometown. Well, one of his hometowns. Three days of long meetings in DC talking to everyone from Homeworld Security to the Pentagon about Atlantis still floating in the Pacific had ended with the storm of the century. Their flight back to San Francisco had been canceled, and just about every other flight in the area canceled or delayed.
John pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the headache of the last few days ratchet up a notch. Teyla and Torren were both asleep in the back seat of the rental car, and John leaned back, tapping the steering wheel as he tried to figure out what to do. Ronon had gotten out of the whole thing because of his still healing stab wound, and Rodney had been called away on an urgent matter after the first day of meetings-although he’d been decidedly cryptic about the nature of the urgent matter and a little too gleeful as he’d waved goodbye. That had left John and Teyla and Torren, because Teyla was not about to let that child out of her sight and Kanaan had been felled by a nasty Earth-born cold virus the day after they’d (literally) hit the ocean, too sick to care for the boy on his own.
The storm had come from the south, blanketing Virginia and Maryland. John’s plan had involved driving the four or so hours north to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, since they had still been able to get planes out the last time he’d called, but that plan had died when their rental car had sputtered to a stop halfway there. He sighed, staring out the window toward a small diner across the street. Stuck. And here, of all places.
Torren coughed behind him, and he heard Teyla shift, shushing the child back to sleep. He turned around in his seat to look at her, knowing she would be awake enough to realize the car had stopped.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Teyla blinked open tired eyes and glanced around, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “Why have we stopped?”
John shrugged. “Car broke down. Won’t even turn over, and fiddling under the hood of a rental car in the middle of a winter storm…” He trailed off, and glanced again at the diner. Fat snowflakes were starting to drift down from unseen clouds above. “We can call for a taxi from the diner then get a motel for the night, but I’m afraid we’re not getting back to Atlantis tonight.”
Teyla nodded, and John recognized her look of resignation. She fought to change what she could but never did fret over the things out of her control. John liked to think he was the same way, but he wasn’t so sure about that sometimes. Teyla exuded calm the way Ronon radiated intensity and Rodney anxious brilliance.
“We can wait in the diner. It’ll be a little warmer in there.”
It didn’t take long for John to grab their bags and Teyla to grab Torren-now wide awake. The cab company promised a car within a half hour but laughed when John told them they needed a motel for the night. Something about a Christmas festival and all rooms in the entire town booked for the weekend. Vague memories of said festival flirted through his mind and he shook his head, pushing them away. He’d figure out where they could go once the cab arrived.
The cab arrived too soon, and the driver laughed again when John asked about motels. Not that John didn’t already know the answer. He’d made a few calls to the motels listed in the phone book and had gotten pretty much the same response. Not a single room for miles. He didn’t remember the festival being this popular when he was younger, but then again, he hadn’t really had to worry about getting a hotel room either. He’d lived here.
The answer came, grudgingly. There was only one place they could stay tonight. It was already well past ten o’clock, and he could feel the fatigue wearing him down. He dug his fingers into his temples to ease the pressure and gave the cabbie his brother’s address.
“Wow, nice pad,” the driver whistled as he pulled into the long driveway.
John shrugged, unzipping his jacket. The hot air blasting through the vent was starting to make him nauseous and he hoped to hell Dave agreed to let them stay for the night. If only the Daedalus had been around to beam them home-that would have solved all kinds of problems.
“This is a beautiful home,” Teyla whispered, bouncing Torren on her hip as they piled out of the car.
“Yeah,” John answered, not sure what he was supposed to say. He handed the cab driver his fare and waved him away, cringing at the man’s gawking stare, then hefted his and Teyla’s bags. He led the way up to the door, taking a deep breath before knocking. “I probably should have called him or something,” John muttered, not quite intending to say that out loud but, dammit, he was tired and his head hurt and the day just kept getting longer and longer.
Footsteps on the other side of the door signaled someone’s approach, faster than John was expecting, so when Dave opened the door, he stood there like a gaping fish for a moment, his mind going completely and utterly blank.
“John?”
“Um…” he started, then cleared his throat. “Hi, Dave.”
Dave stepped back, glancing at Teyla and Torren with wide eyes. “What are you…Is everything…um…”
“Sorry to show up like this, and I realize I should have called or something to give you some warning, but we were in DC and then our flight was canceled from the storm. We had a rental car, but that broke down and there’s that Christmas festival in town-” He slammed his jaw shut, hearing the stream of words flow uncontrollably out of his mouth. Not even Rodney rambled like that.
“What?” Dave still stood frozen in the doorframe, oblivious to the blast of cold air pouring into the house. John rubbed the back of his head, then dropped his hand when he realized he’d given in to one of his nervous ticks.
Torren broke the stalemate with a wailing cry, clearly having had enough of the brisk winter air. Dave shook his head-literally shook his head-and stepped back, signaling them to enter. He led them through the main hall to the large living room, leaving them to settle on the sofas while he darted back to the kitchen to brew some coffee.
The room was decorated exactly the way John remembered it being decorated when he’d been a kid. The same garlands and bows hanging from the windows, the same wreath over the fireplace, the same decorations on the large tree that always stood in the corner of the room throughout the holidays. Every holiday. If not for Teyla and Torren sitting next to him, he could almost believe he’d been transported back in time.
“Here you go,” Dave said, handing him and Teyla mugs of steaming coffee. John inhaled the scent before taking a long sip.
“Is it alright if we spend the night here? I hate to impose on you like this, but we’ve got nowhere else to go.”
Dave stared at John for a moment, and it wasn’t so much the expression in his face that caught John’s attention, but the lack of one. But a split second later, the moment was gone and Dave was nodding his head as he reached for his own cup of coffee. Torren slid from Teyla’s lap and crawled over to the tree and all its shiny ornaments.
“Of course, John.” He stared pointedly at Teyla for a moment.
John winced at the sudden elbow in his side from Teyla-man, he was really out of it tonight. “Sorry, this is Teyla and-” he pointed toward Torren now reaching up to grab one of the bulbs off the tree, “that’s Torren, about to fell your Christmas tree.”
Teyla jumped up, crossing the room and scooping up the small boy. “I am sorry,” she said, then smiled when Dave stood up and shook his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Dave answered, and John suddenly felt stupid being the only one still sitting on the couch. He pushed himself to his feet just as Teyla and Dave both returned to theirs, and he let himself drop back again with a barely controlled sigh.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, we ate just before we got here,” John answered. Kind of, at the diner. But none of them had been very hungry.
“Oh, alright.”
The room lapsed into silence again. Torren crawled across Teyla to John, pawing at his face until John flipped the child around and bounced him on his knee.
“Business good?” he asked, watching Dave watch Torren.
“Okay-well enough given the economy.”
Torren giggled, flapping his arms. Dave’s eyes slid from Torren to John to Teyla, then back to Torren again.
“How old is he?”
“Fourteen months,” Teyla answered.
“He’s cute.”
Torren arched his body, sliding off John’s knee back to the floor and heading again for the tree. John smiled at the exaggerated waddle as the boy tottered toward the tree, falling on his butt halfway there and crawling the rest of the way.
“So, you two work together?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, we’re on a…team. You remember Ronon?”
Dave frowned, his expression clearing a moment later. “Right.”
“Torren John!” Teyla cried out, and if John hadn’t been so tired he might have laughed at the look of shock on Dave’s face. Teyla jumped up, rescuing the bulb Torren had ripped from a low hanging branch and was about to pitch across the room (John had high hopes for that kid’s future quarterbacking years).
Dave stared at Torren-no, Torren John-then Teyla, then his brother. John forced himself out of the sofa and made a move for their bags.
“We should probably turn in for the night,” John said. If Dave wanted to know… anything, then Dave was just going to have to outright ask. “The guest rooms at the top of the stairs okay?”
At Dave’s mute nod, he smiled and headed up the stairs, immensely satisfied at the state of utter bewilderment he’d left his brother in.
Teyla woke early to the sound of Torren screeching. She rolled across the bed to stare down at him, smiling at his sleep-wrinkled face. She and John had thrown a pile of blankets and pillows on the ground the night before-a safer option than sticking him on the bed. Torren kicked at the blanket, letting out another yell.
Six a.m. So far, Torren had proved himself to be as much a morning person as his father. Teyla sighed, forcing herself out of bed and scooping the child up before he screamed again and woke up the entire house. The previous day had been long, and she could have used another hour of sleep, but she smiled at her little boy, rubbing her nose against his until he giggled. He was a happy child, always had been-and she was eternally grateful for that.
She moved to the bathroom, grabbing a clean diaper on the way. Her and John’s room were linked by the shared bathroom, and she peaked through the door to make sure Torren hadn’t woken him up. His room looked almost exactly like hers, and she smiled at the sight of him sprawled in bed, snoring slightly.
She managed to keep Torren occupied in her room for over an hour before her own stomach growled with hunger. By then it was nearing eight o’clock, late enough that she might find someone in the kitchen downstairs. She checked on John one last time, noting he hadn’t moved, then padded her way downstairs, trying to remember which direction John’s brother had gone the night before when he’d gotten them coffee.
“Good morning,” she said as she walked into the kitchen. Dave looked up from his newspaper, hesitating a moment before smiling back.
“Did you sleep alright?”
“We did, thank you.”
Torren squawked, spurring Dave to get up from the table. He pushed a bowl of fruit toward Teyla, shifting awkwardly on his feet for a moment. Teyla watched him rub the back of his neck with his hand, reminding her of John and wondering if John had picked that habit up from Dave or Dave from John.
“Help yourself to anything,” Dave said, finally waving at the fruit. “I was going to make eggs and toast, if you’d like some.”
“That would be wonderful,” Teyla answered, and the look of relief on Dave’s face was one she’d seen on John’s many times.
“Coffee?”
“I would prefer tea, if you have it. Otherwise coffee is just fine.”
“Oh, I have tea.” Dave worked his way through the kitchen, busying himself as he prepared breakfast. He was different from John in many ways, and yet there was an uncanny family resemblance.
“Will…um…your son-”
“Torren.”
“Torren. Does he eat eggs or…,” Dave trailed off again, looking uncomfortable again. “I’m sorry-I haven’t spent a lot of time around kids.”
“That is fine,” Teyla answered, smiling. “He is very fond of bananas.”
The scent of breakfast filled the room, and Teyla moved to the table. Large windows overlooked a sloping field, covered with a thick layer of fresh snow. Clouds still hovered ominously, promising more snow later in the day.
“Looks like you brought that storm with you,” Dave said, setting plates of food and a mug of tea for her on the table then sitting down. “Is John…uh…?”
It had taken her months, if not years, to figure out all of John’s expressions and mannerism, to know when he was happy or relaxed, in pain or uncomfortable or just tired. A flush of red crept up Dave’s neck, and she wondered if John’s reactions were an accurate measurement of Dave’s feelings too. “He is still asleep,” she answered, and Dave’s blush tinged his cheeks.
She grabbed a banana, peeling it and cutting it up into small pieces for Torren. “This is a beautiful view,” she said, pointing out the window and hoping the change of topic would put Dave at ease.
His demeanor shifted immediately as he glanced out the window, at once relaxing. “You should see it in the summer. There’s a lake at the bottom of the hill, near that copse of trees. If we had ice skates, it’s solid enough-”
He was interrupted by a shuffling step behind them, and Teyla turned to see John, still half asleep, walk into the room dressed in track pants and an old t-shirt. “Morning,” he rasped. He cleared his throat and dropped into the chair next to Teyla.
Dave’s eyes danced with amusement, and he stood to pour another cup of coffee. Torren lunged from Teyla’s arms toward John, and John grabbed him, rubbing his back as he stared out the window. His hair was sticking up more than usual, and dark circles ringed his eyes.
“Are you alright, John?” Teyla asked, quietly.
“Yeah,” John said, turning away from the window. “Still waking up, I guess. Sorry to sleep in on you like that.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, but perhaps you can get Torren to eat the rest of his breakfast.”
“Coffee?” Dave asked, setting a mug in front of John without waiting for a reply.
Teyla managed to engage Dave in conversation for the rest of breakfast, talking to him about his home, his work, the town, and the Christmas festival taking place. John fed Torren, drinking his coffee and picking at the orange he’d grabbed from the fruit basket. While they ate, snow began falling again, turning to a white-out blizzard seemingly minutes later.
By the time Teyla had packed up her suitcase, John had called around to the nearby airports and found the flights were still only slowly making their way off the runways. Their only option was to go to the nearest airport and wait it out-maybe for hours. When Dave offered to let them stay an extra day or two until the storm blew over, John gave in right away, the tension draining from his shoulders leaving him looking more exhausted than before.
She got the distinct impression that Dave hadn’t expected John to say yes to his offer, but he went with it, promising Teyla a tour of the town if the snow let up a little. He also hinted at a number of childhood stories involving John and his various mishaps, to which John glared but said little.
In fact, he’d hardly said a word all morning. She knew his relationship with Dave had been strained for many years, but she also knew him, and worry niggled at her. This silent brooding wasn’t John, and Dave seemed as equally perplexed by his brother’s behavior.
The snow finally cleared about midday, and Dave’s enthusiasm at showing Teyla the town was infectious. John politely declined to come along, saying he was going to lay down for a bit and relax. Teyla could see the lines of pain tightening around his eyes, and she guessed the headache he must be fighting off was a bad one.
The town was small but thriving with shopper’s and festival goers. The Christmas holiday was only four days away, and the streets were brightly decorated with bows and wreaths and lights. A large man dressed in a red suit sent Torren into a sobbing fit, to which Dave laughed and said he did that to all the kids.
They returned home a couple of hours later, Torren with a shiny green rubber ball that looked exactly like the Christmas tree bulb he’d been going for the night before (“To save the tree,” Dave had said when he’d given the child his gift), and Teyla with a little deeper understanding of Earth and of John’s roots.
“Honey, we’re home,” Dave called out, his own spirits high, and Teyla wondered how much time he spent relaxing with friends, or if he buried himself in his work the way John did.
The house was quiet as they trudged through the hall, and Teyla was the first to spot John laying on the couch, sound asleep. Torren squirmed out of her grasp at the sight of him, and Teyla set him down with a frown. John looked paler than before, and exhausted even in sleep. The worry that had niggled at her before blossomed into full-blown concern.
“John?” she called out, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and leaning toward him. Close up, his skin was pasty, his lips dry and cracked. She shook his arm, careful to stay out of swinging range if he woke up confused.
He didn’t wake up. She shook a little harder, calling out to him again. When she glanced up at Dave, she saw his face fall.
“John, wake up,” she commanded. She squeezed his arm, pinching the skin and finally eliciting a groan.
“Teyla?” he mumbled.
Torren had finally crawled over to the sofa and he smacked John on the leg. John flinched, rolling onto his side and squeezing his eyes shut.
“I’ve got him,” Dave said before Teyla could move. He stepped around the couch and scooped her son up in his arms.
Teyla pressed a hand into John’s forehead, frowning at the heat that pouring off of him. She’d known he’d had a headache for the last couple of days, but whatever he’d been trying to fight off had gotten the jump on him at last. “John, what’s wrong?”
John sighed, forcing his eyes open. “Sorry, don’t feel well.”
“I can see that. What’s wrong?”
“Headache, hot. Stomach feels off.”
Teyla nodded then turned to Dave. “Do you have Tylenol or Ibuprofen?”
Dave scurried off to get the medicine, still holding a happily babbling Torren. Teyla leaned forward again, leaving a hand on John’s shoulder. “You will rest better in bed. Can you stand?”
John groaned. “This sucks,” he muttered.
Dave forgot he was holding the kid-Torren John-until he was digging through the medicine cabinet with one hand and caught sight of the boy in the mirror. He stared at him for a moment, looking for any resemblance to his namesake-well, middle name. He clearly looked like his mother, but John, not so much.
John had slyly refused to say anything more about his relationship with Teyla other than they worked together, but they were obviously close. Dave had worked with some women in his office for years, but there’s no way he’d be driving around the country with any of them, let alone staying with their families-even just for the day.
He never figured his brother for a family man, especially after his marriage to Nancy had fallen apart, but he’d never seen John so at ease with anyone else, not like he was with Teyla. He was good with the kid, too. Comfortable holding him and bouncing him, and feeding him messy, mashed up bananas. He’d caught John and Teyla exchanging looks with each other, and it wasn’t that they screamed that they were in love or even dating, and yet…
He shook his head. John wasn’t going to tell him anything, and Dave was too courteous to broach the subject with Teyla. If she was aware of Dave’s curiosity, she wasn’t giving any sign of it. Maybe she was too courteous to bring it up too.
Torren screeched, kicking him in the stomach and jarring him out of his thoughts. Whatever. Not only had his brother shown up on his doorstep in the middle of the night needing a place to stay, but he’d brought a woman and her son-their son? No, he shook his head-too, and now John was sick.
He was almost relieved, actually, that John was sick. His brother had been brooding and quiet all morning, reminding Dave all too much of those last few years John had lived here, each run-in with their father a spark to the pile of fuel they’d both built up around them. Dave had tried to stay out of the explosive fights as much as possible and had been guiltily relieved when John had finally left for the Air Force Academy.
But they’d been close once, as kids. Romping through the fields and woods around this home, exploring New York City when Dad had dragged them there for business. John had loved the house in Maui the most, and Dave had been a willing partner in more than their fair share of adventures along the beach and in the thick tropical forests of the mountains around them.
He grabbed the Tylenol and the Ibuprofen, then put the Ibuprofen back on the shelf. Tylenol would do. Torren was aching to be set down, so Dave hurried back to the living room in time to see Teyla pulling his brother out of the sofa then catching him when he started to sway.
“John!” Dave called out, setting Torren on the ground. The boy immediately crawled toward the Christmas tree, and he did kind of look like John.
John’s legs folded underneath him and Teyla guided him in a controlled drop back to the sofa. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Little dizzy.”
“That’s alright, John. Take your time,” Teyla soothed. She brushed his hair back from his forehead, and there it was again-that closeness. They didn’t just work together. They couldn’t.
Dave darted to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and returning to the living room to find John leaning back on the sofa with his arm over his eyes. Teyla had pulled Torren away from the tree, giving him the rubber ball instead and successfully distracting him.
“I’ve got some Tylenol,” Dave said, holding out the glass of water and the bottle. John fumbled with the bottle for a moment until Dave took it back and opened the cap, dumping two pills into his brother’s palm.
“Thanks,” John answered, swallowing the pills then reaching for the water. A moment later, he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing onto Dave in the process. He swayed, and Dave wrapped an arm around John’s waist in a tight grip.
“I’m okay,’ John said.
Dave laughed. Now that sounded like John. “Hardly,” Dave said. “Let’s go.” He led his brother through the house and up the stairs, moving slowly enough to make sure John kept up. By the time they reached the guest room, John was shaking. He collapsed into the bed and immediately curled up, oblivious to Dave pulling the blankets over him then changing his mind and flinging all but a thin sheet off of him.
Teyla had followed him into the room, and she sat on the edge of the bed, resting the back of her hand against John’s cheek. Dave turned away, not sure if he should be witness to so intimate a moment. There it was again-something more between these two than either of them had so far let on. He glanced around the room, spotting John’s suitcase on the loveseat against the wall. Only John’s suitcase. So, separate rooms then?
“He is asleep,” Teyla said, standing up. Dave nodded, looking behind her to see his brother dead to the world, his jaw slack. He really did look sick.
“Right,” Dave said, leading the way out of the room. Teyla closed the door behind her, leaving it slightly ajar and the two of them made their way back downstairs.
And what the hell was he supposed to do with this woman and her son now? Teyla was kind and beautiful-God, she was gorgeous-but Dave had work to do. He hadn’t planned on entertaining his sick brother or his sick brother’s girlfriend, friend, whatever. Wife? He glanced at her hand where a wedding ring should be and saw nothing. John would have told him if he’d gotten married again, wouldn’t he?
The afternoon passed slowly. When Teyla took Torren upstairs for a nap, she didn’t come back down, and Dave found her sitting by John’s bedside, reading. He retreated to his office, forcing himself to get a bit of work done. When his stomach started to growl with hunger, he wandered past John’s room on his way down the stairs to fix dinner, wondering if Teyla was still sitting next to him.
She wasn’t just sitting next to him; she was hanging on to him as he retched and gagged in the bathroom. He seemed only half awake and like he would have fallen head first into the toilet without her keeping him upright. His head hung on his neck, and he breathed heavily through his nose.
“He will not stop throwing up,” Teyla said when she saw Dave standing in the doorway. “I fear he’s is becoming badly dehydrated.”
Dave glanced out the window, and even through the darkness he could see the storm had picked up again. Teyla looked up at him, and for the first time since they’d met (albeit it was only the night before), she looked unsure of herself or what to do.
Dave fished through the drawer next to the sink, pulling out a thermometer. John had stopped gagging for the moment, and Teyla eased him back, letting his head rest against her shoulder. Dave held the thermometer in his brother’s mouth, knowing the fever was going to be high. John’s cheeks were flushed red, while the rest of his skin looked gray, and Dave could feel the heat radiating from him.
John blinked open glassy eyes, staring at him. Dave turned away from the look, willing the thermometer to hurry up and take its reading already. A memory of his father, looking washed out and half dead like John was looking now flashed through his mind. His father had always looked like that the first day or two after his first couple of heart attacks. Glassy eyes staring, seeing but not seeing.
The thermometer beeped, and Dave pulled it out. It was one of those electronic ones, and he stared at the digital display in shock.
“103, even,” he said. And that was high-too high. “We should maybe take him in-there’s a hospital just down the road.”
John twisted in Teyla’s arms, gagging again. She leaned forward, supporting his head as his stomach rebelled again, but he’d long since thrown up anything he had in his stomach. She glanced at Dave and nodded, looking relieved at his suggestion.
It took both of them to worm John’s limp arms into his coat and then manhandle him to the garage. John was all but unconscious as Dave strapped him in. Teyla left then returned a few moments later, Torren bundled up and holding onto his green ball with a death grip. The roads were as bad as Dave had feared, but he’d taken his SUV for just that reason.
Hours later, Dave sat in a chair next to John, dozing lightly but waking up every few minutes to stare at the soft rise and fall of his brother’s chest. Per the local doctor, it was a flu. A bad flu, but still, just a flu. They’d given John something to quiet his stomach and fight the fever, and IV fluids were dealing with the dehydration. Already John looked better.
The hospital relatively empty, so John’s semi-private room was theirs for the moment. Teyla was stretched out in the bed next to John’s, sleeping. Torren lay curled up against his mother, and Dave had to admit, he really didn’t look anything like John.
His brother groaned as he shifted in the bed. He cracked open his eyes and stared at the ceiling in confusion.
“Hey,” Dave whispered, wary of waking Teyla. It had taken a lot of coaxing for him to finally get the woman to lay down.
John looked over at Dave, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “Dave?”
“Yeah,” Dave said, smiling. “Thanks for dropping in on me unannounced and then getting sick as a dog.”
John groaned, rubbing at his stomach.
“You okay?”
“Feel like crap,” John answered.
“Well, it’s just the flu. But if I get sick because of you…”
John smiled, just a faint upturn at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry. Hospital?”
“It’s a really bad flu and they wanted to keep you for the night, which brings me back to my original statement. If you get me sick, I will be seriously pissed off.”
John looked over to the other side of the room, his eyes darting around the room until they finally rested on Teyla and Torren. “They okay?”
“They’re fine-just tired. It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“Hmmm…”
John relaxed, not an easy task for someone already lying limp in bed. He looked like he was ready to fall asleep again. Now or never.
“So,” Dave started, leaning in closer when John opened heavy lids to look at him. “You and Teyla-”
“She’s my teammate, nothing more.”
“You’re not…you know…”
John sighed, shaking his head. “We’re not.”
“And Torren John?”
“Dave.”
Okay, maybe he was pushing it a little. If John wasn’t so sick, he’d probably have him by the throat. He held up his hands in surrender. “It’s cool, I just thought that if the two of you are not…” he waved his hand, “…and she’s available…”
How John managed to pull off the look of death while lying in a hospital bed, Dave did not know. But he was a smart man. It had been awhile since he and his brother had spent a lot of time together, and John wasn’t the boy Dave once knew, but Dave knew when to stop pushing. He smiled, shaking his head.
“She’s taken,” John whispered, sinking back into pillow and letting his eyes drift close. A moment later his breathing evened out in sleep.
“Whatever you say, brother. Whatever you say.”
END
SANTA’S BOOMING WORKSHOP
The civilian contingent had spread out over the inhabited zone of Atlantis, dotting the city with lab after lab after lab from the first day the expedition arrived in Pegasus. Biology labs, zoology labs, chemistry labs, medical labs, physics labs-every lab imaginable doing every experiment imaginable and then some.
John’s favorite lab, however, was one of the large engineering ones on the north side of the city. It wasn’t so much a lab as it was a tinkering mechanic’s heaven. And more of a remodeled cargo hold. The room was nearly the size of a football field, with little rooms off to the side, and experiments and inventions in every square inch of space. Even some of the Marines had cleared small areas for their own tinkering.
On days off, John would meander through the room, looking over people’s shoulders, sometimes giving someone a hand. There were engines of all shapes and sizes, telescopes, microscopes, stuff involving optics and lasers, wheels, robots, levers-some of it practical tools and devices but most of it toys. Their very own Santa’s Workshop.
Add in a little Ancient tech, and Santa’s elves were creating awesome toys. Hovering remote-control toy jumper awesome.
John was in the control room when the first alarms went off. He crossed the room in three long steps to the map, saw the flashing red dot over the workshop and sprinted toward the transporter, yelling out orders for a fire suppression unit and a medical team. Lorne met up with him half way, a team of Marines at his back.
“Explosion in the workshop,” John huffed as he ran. He saw Lorne nod, picking up the pace.
“Bound to happen eventually.”
“If they destroyed my remote-control jumper, heads will roll.”
The doors to the workshop flew open as they approached and John caught the faint scent of burning rubber. There was no smoke, however, or flames, or an irritatingly calm computer voice counting down the destruction of the entire city. Whatever had exploded had had the courtesy to do it in one of the small rooms off to the side, far away from John and Radek’s toy jumper project.
John and Lorne weaved through the tables toward the corner of the workshop, the first trails of smoke finally visible through a crack in the door. The four-man Marine unit followed them, grabbing metal bars at John’s command. John could hear voices on the other side of the door yelling for help and banging against the metal frame, the noise coalescing with the urgent but calm voices shouting out orders through his radio earpiece and the grunts of men trying to pry open the unresponsive Ancient door. The smoke was getting thicker and darker, the smell pungent.
Between him, Lorne, and the four Marines, the door was not much of an obstacle-Ancient design be damned. Two engineers fell out of the opening, collapsing to the ground in a coughing heap of soot and charred clothing.
“What happened?” John asked, leaning toward the nearest engineer and speaking loud enough to get the dazed man’s attention.
The man blinked, shaking his head. A line of blood dripped down the side of his face from a small cut on his cheek. “Over…overload,” he rasped out. “Not sure…”
“Was it just the two of you in there?”
The man started, looking around. “Three-there were three of us.”
John would have said more, but something popped in the room behind him, and the burning smell got worse. The engineer he’d been talking to dissolved into a fit of coughing, and John stepped back to let two of the Marines manhandle the injured man away from the door.
“Lorne, get these men away from here. The medics should be hitting the outer hall any minute now, and if something else in there explodes, I don’t know want anyone else getting hurt.”
The major was already moving, grabbing three of the four Marines with them to help the two injured men across the workshop. John signaled to the fourth.
“There’s one more guy in there. Stay a few feet behind me and keep your eyes on the door. That smoke is getting thick and I don’t want to lose our exit.”
“Yes, sir.”
John ducked into the room, crouching as low to the ground as he could without compromising his speed. Smoke peeled across the ceiling in waves. He’d never been into this particular room, and the flickering lights overhead were making it impossible to see anything. The far side of the room was filled with three large metal boxes, connected to an array of computer consoles with every type of wire imaginable. The smallest of the metal boxes-he honestly had no idea what they were supposed to be just by looking at them-was sparking and hissing, spewing inky black smoke.
“Hey! Anyone in here?” John yelled out. His voice thundered in the small space, sounding muted and amplified all at the same time. The small sparking box popped in response, a booming clap that had John hitting the ground and wrapping his arms over his head.
He paused, waiting for the eminent explosion. When nothing happened, he looked around. Arms of flame, angry red against the black smoke, were now flicking out of the top of the box. He pushed himself to his knees and looked around again, coughing at the smoke and the invading odor of burning paint, rubber, metal, and plastic.
“Here…”
He heard the soft whisper and looked over just in time to see a white sleeve waving at him. He crawled forward, wary of the building smoke. He should have at least covered his mouth and nose, but it hadn’t been that bad when he ran in. The smoke had been high and flowing across the ceiling, not drifting toward the ground in an ominous cloud.
John reached the third engineer and yanked the man forward. The hissing metal box had pissed off its neighbor, and its neighbor was a much larger metal box with a lot more pieces hanging off it. John ducked as sparks jumped along the wires connecting the two boxes-and really, what the hell were these guys doing in here?-forcing the semi-conscious engineer along.
“Sergeant?” he yelled out when he thought he could see the door.
“Right here, sir,” the man answered back, and both metal boxes answered with a pop and spitting burst of flames.
John looked around, eyes and throat burning, and just saw the sergeant on hands and knees in front of him, a silhouette against the door. He pushed the engineer toward the Marine, letting the other man take the now-unconscious man’s weight, and followed them, his lungs aching for the beckoning fresh air.
The lab-as most labs on Atlantis seemed to do eventually-exploded. At least that’s what if felt like to John. One second he was crawling toward the open door, the next he felt a roar of heat and smoke rush over him. The sound hit a second later, a sonic boom that thudded through his very core. He felt a sharp crack of pain across his chest and arm, and then nothing.
“Colonel Sheppard?” The voice was familiar but muffled, and sounding slightly panicked. “Colonel, where are you?”
John blinked open his eyes to see the same dark smoke swirling above him. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long, if at all. Same smoke, same hissing, popping metal boxes, same burning ache in his throat and lungs. He should have waited for the fire unit, but then he remembered the unconscious engineer and the explosion, and he wondered if the man would have survived if he’d waited.
Or if he was even alive now. He couldn’t see him or the sergeant anywhere. Tables and computer consoles and other unidentifiable pieces of metal lay strewn across the lab. John was tucked into a corner, about as far away as he could get from the angry boxes but buried in debris. He pushed at the piece laying across his chest then whimpered in pain when it only dug deeper into his chest and arm.
“Colonel?” Lorne yelled again. John rolled his head to the side and saw the major sliding across the ground toward him, a smudge of black against gray.
“Lorne,” John called out, then coughed, then moaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, panting against too little oxygen and too much pressure on his ribs.
“Sir,” Lorne’s voice sounded near his head, and he opened his eyes to see the major’s dirt covered face staring down at him. “How badly are you hurt?”
John licked his lips, dreading speaking but knowing he had to. “Chest hurts, and arm. Can’t-” he stopped, coughing again and sending a flood of pain cascading through his entire body. He lifted his free arm to point toward half console pinning him to the floor. “Too heavy.”
“Got it, sir,” the major answered, also coughing, but he’d had the presence of mind to cover his mouth and nose with a cloth. “On three-one, two, three!”
Lorne pulled, and John pushed with one hand until the console fell away from him, crying out at both the instant relief from the pressure and the pulsing ache that danced across his ribs like the sparks of electricity shooting along the wires behind Lorne’s head, back and forth between the two boxes. John gasped, sucking in a lungful of air that did little to ease the tightness in his lungs. He banged his left arm against the ground, but the right-the one that had been pinned against his chest beneath the console-lay inert.
Lorne was coughing again, then suddenly leaning over John’s head and wiping a sleeve across his forehead. “I need to get you out of here and I can’t wait for the medical team,” he yelled, and John suddenly noticed that there was a lot more noise in the room. The two little angry boxes were almost shaking with rage now, igniting the fury in the final and largest box in the room. It occurred to John that he should name the boxes, and he glared at the blinking lights on the large box. It glared back, eyes glowing red.
“Sir!”
“What?” John asked, his eyes sliding back Lorne’s face, pale and dirty and worried. He dragged in another breath and felt the room spin, but at least he didn’t cough.
“Are you hurt anywhere else? Your back or neck?”
John shook his head, not daring to speak. Whatever was sparking along the ceiling was now in his throat and lungs. He felt a hand on his shoulder and then Lorne disappeared, but John could still hear him. A pressure he hadn’t realized was there suddenly lifted from his legs, and he winced as he flexed his feet. Bruised, but not broken.
“Here we go, Colonel. This is going to hurt like hell, so I apologize in advance and don’t demote me.”
John blinked up at Lorne, only catching half of what the man said, and then Angry Big Brother Box blew its top-literally. Flames leapt from it, locks of fiery-red hair standing on end. John smiled and would have laughed, but Lorne chose that moment to pick him up under his arms and drag him across the room, and his voice caught in his throat. John saw the smaller metal boxes bowing into the heat of big brother, and then his broken arm banged against the doorframe and everything faded.
“Good morning, sir,” the major said, making a show of knocking against the curtain.
John scowled, pressing his head against the pillow because damn his head hurt. And his arm. And his chest. And the nasal cannula itched-although it was a tad better than the mask had been.
“I won’t ask how you’re feeling,” Lorne said, trying and failing to hide his grin.
“That would be wise for your career,” John rasped, his scowl deepening at the burning ache in his throat. “Thank you, by the way-for the whole, you know…”
“Yes, sir,” Lorne said. “I was just checking on Dr. Greensburg and thought I’d see how you were doing?”
“Greensburg?”
“Engineer number three. Doc says he’ll be fine in a few days.”
John nodded. At least that made one of them. He, on the other hand, would be lounging around the infirmary and his room for the next couple of weeks nursing a couple of bruised ribs, a broken arm and a mild concussion-not to mention the whole smoke-inhalation problem. No one else involved in this whole mess had been required to spend more than a few hours in the infirmary.
“What were they working on in there anyway?” Because he couldn’t get the image of those three pissed-off box faces with fire for hair out of his head.
“You know, I asked about that and all three were very eager to tell me what they were working on, but I’ll be damned if I understood a word they said. You might want to get the translation from Zelenka on that one. Oh, and while you’re at, you may also want to ask him about your toy jumpers.”
“Right, whatever.” John sighed, rolling the tension out of his shoulders and feeling the pull of sleep. Lorne waved then disappeared around the curtain, and John closed his eyes, knowing someone would be around soon to check on him. He was determined to get in a nap before then, and maybe even… Wait. Ask Zelenka about his…
“What about my jumpers? Lorne!!”
END
LET IT SNOW, LET IT SNOW
It was pure chance that John, Teyla and Torren ended up stranded just outside of John’s hometown. Well, one of his hometowns. Three days of long meetings in DC talking to everyone from Homeworld Security to the Pentagon about Atlantis still floating in the Pacific had ended with the storm of the century. Their flight back to San Francisco had been canceled, and just about every other flight in the area canceled or delayed.
John pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the headache of the last few days ratchet up a notch. Teyla and Torren were both asleep in the back seat of the rental car, and John leaned back, tapping the steering wheel as he tried to figure out what to do. Ronon had gotten out of the whole thing because of his still healing stab wound, and Rodney had been called away on an urgent matter after the first day of meetings-although he’d been decidedly cryptic about the nature of the urgent matter and a little too gleeful as he’d waved goodbye. That had left John and Teyla and Torren, because Teyla was not about to let that child out of her sight and Kanaan had been felled by a nasty Earth-born cold virus the day after they’d (literally) hit the ocean, too sick to care for the boy on his own.
The storm had come from the south, blanketing Virginia and Maryland. John’s plan had involved driving the four or so hours north to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, since they had still been able to get planes out the last time he’d called, but that plan had died when their rental car had sputtered to a stop halfway there. He sighed, staring out the window toward a small diner across the street. Stuck. And here, of all places.
Torren coughed behind him, and he heard Teyla shift, shushing the child back to sleep. He turned around in his seat to look at her, knowing she would be awake enough to realize the car had stopped.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Teyla blinked open tired eyes and glanced around, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “Why have we stopped?”
John shrugged. “Car broke down. Won’t even turn over, and fiddling under the hood of a rental car in the middle of a winter storm…” He trailed off, and glanced again at the diner. Fat snowflakes were starting to drift down from unseen clouds above. “We can call for a taxi from the diner then get a motel for the night, but I’m afraid we’re not getting back to Atlantis tonight.”
Teyla nodded, and John recognized her look of resignation. She fought to change what she could but never did fret over the things out of her control. John liked to think he was the same way, but he wasn’t so sure about that sometimes. Teyla exuded calm the way Ronon radiated intensity and Rodney anxious brilliance.
“We can wait in the diner. It’ll be a little warmer in there.”
It didn’t take long for John to grab their bags and Teyla to grab Torren-now wide awake. The cab company promised a car within a half hour but laughed when John told them they needed a motel for the night. Something about a Christmas festival and all rooms in the entire town booked for the weekend. Vague memories of said festival flirted through his mind and he shook his head, pushing them away. He’d figure out where they could go once the cab arrived.
The cab arrived too soon, and the driver laughed again when John asked about motels. Not that John didn’t already know the answer. He’d made a few calls to the motels listed in the phone book and had gotten pretty much the same response. Not a single room for miles. He didn’t remember the festival being this popular when he was younger, but then again, he hadn’t really had to worry about getting a hotel room either. He’d lived here.
The answer came, grudgingly. There was only one place they could stay tonight. It was already well past ten o’clock, and he could feel the fatigue wearing him down. He dug his fingers into his temples to ease the pressure and gave the cabbie his brother’s address.
“Wow, nice pad,” the driver whistled as he pulled into the long driveway.
John shrugged, unzipping his jacket. The hot air blasting through the vent was starting to make him nauseous and he hoped to hell Dave agreed to let them stay for the night. If only the Daedalus had been around to beam them home-that would have solved all kinds of problems.
“This is a beautiful home,” Teyla whispered, bouncing Torren on her hip as they piled out of the car.
“Yeah,” John answered, not sure what he was supposed to say. He handed the cab driver his fare and waved him away, cringing at the man’s gawking stare, then hefted his and Teyla’s bags. He led the way up to the door, taking a deep breath before knocking. “I probably should have called him or something,” John muttered, not quite intending to say that out loud but, dammit, he was tired and his head hurt and the day just kept getting longer and longer.
Footsteps on the other side of the door signaled someone’s approach, faster than John was expecting, so when Dave opened the door, he stood there like a gaping fish for a moment, his mind going completely and utterly blank.
“John?”
“Um…” he started, then cleared his throat. “Hi, Dave.”
Dave stepped back, glancing at Teyla and Torren with wide eyes. “What are you…Is everything…um…”
“Sorry to show up like this, and I realize I should have called or something to give you some warning, but we were in DC and then our flight was canceled from the storm. We had a rental car, but that broke down and there’s that Christmas festival in town-” He slammed his jaw shut, hearing the stream of words flow uncontrollably out of his mouth. Not even Rodney rambled like that.
“What?” Dave still stood frozen in the doorframe, oblivious to the blast of cold air pouring into the house. John rubbed the back of his head, then dropped his hand when he realized he’d given in to one of his nervous ticks.
Torren broke the stalemate with a wailing cry, clearly having had enough of the brisk winter air. Dave shook his head-literally shook his head-and stepped back, signaling them to enter. He led them through the main hall to the large living room, leaving them to settle on the sofas while he darted back to the kitchen to brew some coffee.
The room was decorated exactly the way John remembered it being decorated when he’d been a kid. The same garlands and bows hanging from the windows, the same wreath over the fireplace, the same decorations on the large tree that always stood in the corner of the room throughout the holidays. Every holiday. If not for Teyla and Torren sitting next to him, he could almost believe he’d been transported back in time.
“Here you go,” Dave said, handing him and Teyla mugs of steaming coffee. John inhaled the scent before taking a long sip.
“Is it alright if we spend the night here? I hate to impose on you like this, but we’ve got nowhere else to go.”
Dave stared at John for a moment, and it wasn’t so much the expression in his face that caught John’s attention, but the lack of one. But a split second later, the moment was gone and Dave was nodding his head as he reached for his own cup of coffee. Torren slid from Teyla’s lap and crawled over to the tree and all its shiny ornaments.
“Of course, John.” He stared pointedly at Teyla for a moment.
John winced at the sudden elbow in his side from Teyla-man, he was really out of it tonight. “Sorry, this is Teyla and-” he pointed toward Torren now reaching up to grab one of the bulbs off the tree, “that’s Torren, about to fell your Christmas tree.”
Teyla jumped up, crossing the room and scooping up the small boy. “I am sorry,” she said, then smiled when Dave stood up and shook his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Dave answered, and John suddenly felt stupid being the only one still sitting on the couch. He pushed himself to his feet just as Teyla and Dave both returned to theirs, and he let himself drop back again with a barely controlled sigh.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, we ate just before we got here,” John answered. Kind of, at the diner. But none of them had been very hungry.
“Oh, alright.”
The room lapsed into silence again. Torren crawled across Teyla to John, pawing at his face until John flipped the child around and bounced him on his knee.
“Business good?” he asked, watching Dave watch Torren.
“Okay-well enough given the economy.”
Torren giggled, flapping his arms. Dave’s eyes slid from Torren to John to Teyla, then back to Torren again.
“How old is he?”
“Fourteen months,” Teyla answered.
“He’s cute.”
Torren arched his body, sliding off John’s knee back to the floor and heading again for the tree. John smiled at the exaggerated waddle as the boy tottered toward the tree, falling on his butt halfway there and crawling the rest of the way.
“So, you two work together?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, we’re on a…team. You remember Ronon?”
Dave frowned, his expression clearing a moment later. “Right.”
“Torren John!” Teyla cried out, and if John hadn’t been so tired he might have laughed at the look of shock on Dave’s face. Teyla jumped up, rescuing the bulb Torren had ripped from a low hanging branch and was about to pitch across the room (John had high hopes for that kid’s future quarterbacking years).
Dave stared at Torren-no, Torren John-then Teyla, then his brother. John forced himself out of the sofa and made a move for their bags.
“We should probably turn in for the night,” John said. If Dave wanted to know… anything, then Dave was just going to have to outright ask. “The guest rooms at the top of the stairs okay?”
At Dave’s mute nod, he smiled and headed up the stairs, immensely satisfied at the state of utter bewilderment he’d left his brother in.
Teyla woke early to the sound of Torren screeching. She rolled across the bed to stare down at him, smiling at his sleep-wrinkled face. She and John had thrown a pile of blankets and pillows on the ground the night before-a safer option than sticking him on the bed. Torren kicked at the blanket, letting out another yell.
Six a.m. So far, Torren had proved himself to be as much a morning person as his father. Teyla sighed, forcing herself out of bed and scooping the child up before he screamed again and woke up the entire house. The previous day had been long, and she could have used another hour of sleep, but she smiled at her little boy, rubbing her nose against his until he giggled. He was a happy child, always had been-and she was eternally grateful for that.
She moved to the bathroom, grabbing a clean diaper on the way. Her and John’s room were linked by the shared bathroom, and she peaked through the door to make sure Torren hadn’t woken him up. His room looked almost exactly like hers, and she smiled at the sight of him sprawled in bed, snoring slightly.
She managed to keep Torren occupied in her room for over an hour before her own stomach growled with hunger. By then it was nearing eight o’clock, late enough that she might find someone in the kitchen downstairs. She checked on John one last time, noting he hadn’t moved, then padded her way downstairs, trying to remember which direction John’s brother had gone the night before when he’d gotten them coffee.
“Good morning,” she said as she walked into the kitchen. Dave looked up from his newspaper, hesitating a moment before smiling back.
“Did you sleep alright?”
“We did, thank you.”
Torren squawked, spurring Dave to get up from the table. He pushed a bowl of fruit toward Teyla, shifting awkwardly on his feet for a moment. Teyla watched him rub the back of his neck with his hand, reminding her of John and wondering if John had picked that habit up from Dave or Dave from John.
“Help yourself to anything,” Dave said, finally waving at the fruit. “I was going to make eggs and toast, if you’d like some.”
“That would be wonderful,” Teyla answered, and the look of relief on Dave’s face was one she’d seen on John’s many times.
“Coffee?”
“I would prefer tea, if you have it. Otherwise coffee is just fine.”
“Oh, I have tea.” Dave worked his way through the kitchen, busying himself as he prepared breakfast. He was different from John in many ways, and yet there was an uncanny family resemblance.
“Will…um…your son-”
“Torren.”
“Torren. Does he eat eggs or…,” Dave trailed off again, looking uncomfortable again. “I’m sorry-I haven’t spent a lot of time around kids.”
“That is fine,” Teyla answered, smiling. “He is very fond of bananas.”
The scent of breakfast filled the room, and Teyla moved to the table. Large windows overlooked a sloping field, covered with a thick layer of fresh snow. Clouds still hovered ominously, promising more snow later in the day.
“Looks like you brought that storm with you,” Dave said, setting plates of food and a mug of tea for her on the table then sitting down. “Is John…uh…?”
It had taken her months, if not years, to figure out all of John’s expressions and mannerism, to know when he was happy or relaxed, in pain or uncomfortable or just tired. A flush of red crept up Dave’s neck, and she wondered if John’s reactions were an accurate measurement of Dave’s feelings too. “He is still asleep,” she answered, and Dave’s blush tinged his cheeks.
She grabbed a banana, peeling it and cutting it up into small pieces for Torren. “This is a beautiful view,” she said, pointing out the window and hoping the change of topic would put Dave at ease.
His demeanor shifted immediately as he glanced out the window, at once relaxing. “You should see it in the summer. There’s a lake at the bottom of the hill, near that copse of trees. If we had ice skates, it’s solid enough-”
He was interrupted by a shuffling step behind them, and Teyla turned to see John, still half asleep, walk into the room dressed in track pants and an old t-shirt. “Morning,” he rasped. He cleared his throat and dropped into the chair next to Teyla.
Dave’s eyes danced with amusement, and he stood to pour another cup of coffee. Torren lunged from Teyla’s arms toward John, and John grabbed him, rubbing his back as he stared out the window. His hair was sticking up more than usual, and dark circles ringed his eyes.
“Are you alright, John?” Teyla asked, quietly.
“Yeah,” John said, turning away from the window. “Still waking up, I guess. Sorry to sleep in on you like that.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, but perhaps you can get Torren to eat the rest of his breakfast.”
“Coffee?” Dave asked, setting a mug in front of John without waiting for a reply.
Teyla managed to engage Dave in conversation for the rest of breakfast, talking to him about his home, his work, the town, and the Christmas festival taking place. John fed Torren, drinking his coffee and picking at the orange he’d grabbed from the fruit basket. While they ate, snow began falling again, turning to a white-out blizzard seemingly minutes later.
By the time Teyla had packed up her suitcase, John had called around to the nearby airports and found the flights were still only slowly making their way off the runways. Their only option was to go to the nearest airport and wait it out-maybe for hours. When Dave offered to let them stay an extra day or two until the storm blew over, John gave in right away, the tension draining from his shoulders leaving him looking more exhausted than before.
She got the distinct impression that Dave hadn’t expected John to say yes to his offer, but he went with it, promising Teyla a tour of the town if the snow let up a little. He also hinted at a number of childhood stories involving John and his various mishaps, to which John glared but said little.
In fact, he’d hardly said a word all morning. She knew his relationship with Dave had been strained for many years, but she also knew him, and worry niggled at her. This silent brooding wasn’t John, and Dave seemed as equally perplexed by his brother’s behavior.
The snow finally cleared about midday, and Dave’s enthusiasm at showing Teyla the town was infectious. John politely declined to come along, saying he was going to lay down for a bit and relax. Teyla could see the lines of pain tightening around his eyes, and she guessed the headache he must be fighting off was a bad one.
The town was small but thriving with shopper’s and festival goers. The Christmas holiday was only four days away, and the streets were brightly decorated with bows and wreaths and lights. A large man dressed in a red suit sent Torren into a sobbing fit, to which Dave laughed and said he did that to all the kids.
They returned home a couple of hours later, Torren with a shiny green rubber ball that looked exactly like the Christmas tree bulb he’d been going for the night before (“To save the tree,” Dave had said when he’d given the child his gift), and Teyla with a little deeper understanding of Earth and of John’s roots.
“Honey, we’re home,” Dave called out, his own spirits high, and Teyla wondered how much time he spent relaxing with friends, or if he buried himself in his work the way John did.
The house was quiet as they trudged through the hall, and Teyla was the first to spot John laying on the couch, sound asleep. Torren squirmed out of her grasp at the sight of him, and Teyla set him down with a frown. John looked paler than before, and exhausted even in sleep. The worry that had niggled at her before blossomed into full-blown concern.
“John?” she called out, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and leaning toward him. Close up, his skin was pasty, his lips dry and cracked. She shook his arm, careful to stay out of swinging range if he woke up confused.
He didn’t wake up. She shook a little harder, calling out to him again. When she glanced up at Dave, she saw his face fall.
“John, wake up,” she commanded. She squeezed his arm, pinching the skin and finally eliciting a groan.
“Teyla?” he mumbled.
Torren had finally crawled over to the sofa and he smacked John on the leg. John flinched, rolling onto his side and squeezing his eyes shut.
“I’ve got him,” Dave said before Teyla could move. He stepped around the couch and scooped her son up in his arms.
Teyla pressed a hand into John’s forehead, frowning at the heat that pouring off of him. She’d known he’d had a headache for the last couple of days, but whatever he’d been trying to fight off had gotten the jump on him at last. “John, what’s wrong?”
John sighed, forcing his eyes open. “Sorry, don’t feel well.”
“I can see that. What’s wrong?”
“Headache, hot. Stomach feels off.”
Teyla nodded then turned to Dave. “Do you have Tylenol or Ibuprofen?”
Dave scurried off to get the medicine, still holding a happily babbling Torren. Teyla leaned forward again, leaving a hand on John’s shoulder. “You will rest better in bed. Can you stand?”
John groaned. “This sucks,” he muttered.
Dave forgot he was holding the kid-Torren John-until he was digging through the medicine cabinet with one hand and caught sight of the boy in the mirror. He stared at him for a moment, looking for any resemblance to his namesake-well, middle name. He clearly looked like his mother, but John, not so much.
John had slyly refused to say anything more about his relationship with Teyla other than they worked together, but they were obviously close. Dave had worked with some women in his office for years, but there’s no way he’d be driving around the country with any of them, let alone staying with their families-even just for the day.
He never figured his brother for a family man, especially after his marriage to Nancy had fallen apart, but he’d never seen John so at ease with anyone else, not like he was with Teyla. He was good with the kid, too. Comfortable holding him and bouncing him, and feeding him messy, mashed up bananas. He’d caught John and Teyla exchanging looks with each other, and it wasn’t that they screamed that they were in love or even dating, and yet…
He shook his head. John wasn’t going to tell him anything, and Dave was too courteous to broach the subject with Teyla. If she was aware of Dave’s curiosity, she wasn’t giving any sign of it. Maybe she was too courteous to bring it up too.
Torren screeched, kicking him in the stomach and jarring him out of his thoughts. Whatever. Not only had his brother shown up on his doorstep in the middle of the night needing a place to stay, but he’d brought a woman and her son-their son? No, he shook his head-too, and now John was sick.
He was almost relieved, actually, that John was sick. His brother had been brooding and quiet all morning, reminding Dave all too much of those last few years John had lived here, each run-in with their father a spark to the pile of fuel they’d both built up around them. Dave had tried to stay out of the explosive fights as much as possible and had been guiltily relieved when John had finally left for the Air Force Academy.
But they’d been close once, as kids. Romping through the fields and woods around this home, exploring New York City when Dad had dragged them there for business. John had loved the house in Maui the most, and Dave had been a willing partner in more than their fair share of adventures along the beach and in the thick tropical forests of the mountains around them.
He grabbed the Tylenol and the Ibuprofen, then put the Ibuprofen back on the shelf. Tylenol would do. Torren was aching to be set down, so Dave hurried back to the living room in time to see Teyla pulling his brother out of the sofa then catching him when he started to sway.
“John!” Dave called out, setting Torren on the ground. The boy immediately crawled toward the Christmas tree, and he did kind of look like John.
John’s legs folded underneath him and Teyla guided him in a controlled drop back to the sofa. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Little dizzy.”
“That’s alright, John. Take your time,” Teyla soothed. She brushed his hair back from his forehead, and there it was again-that closeness. They didn’t just work together. They couldn’t.
Dave darted to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and returning to the living room to find John leaning back on the sofa with his arm over his eyes. Teyla had pulled Torren away from the tree, giving him the rubber ball instead and successfully distracting him.
“I’ve got some Tylenol,” Dave said, holding out the glass of water and the bottle. John fumbled with the bottle for a moment until Dave took it back and opened the cap, dumping two pills into his brother’s palm.
“Thanks,” John answered, swallowing the pills then reaching for the water. A moment later, he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing onto Dave in the process. He swayed, and Dave wrapped an arm around John’s waist in a tight grip.
“I’m okay,’ John said.
Dave laughed. Now that sounded like John. “Hardly,” Dave said. “Let’s go.” He led his brother through the house and up the stairs, moving slowly enough to make sure John kept up. By the time they reached the guest room, John was shaking. He collapsed into the bed and immediately curled up, oblivious to Dave pulling the blankets over him then changing his mind and flinging all but a thin sheet off of him.
Teyla had followed him into the room, and she sat on the edge of the bed, resting the back of her hand against John’s cheek. Dave turned away, not sure if he should be witness to so intimate a moment. There it was again-something more between these two than either of them had so far let on. He glanced around the room, spotting John’s suitcase on the loveseat against the wall. Only John’s suitcase. So, separate rooms then?
“He is asleep,” Teyla said, standing up. Dave nodded, looking behind her to see his brother dead to the world, his jaw slack. He really did look sick.
“Right,” Dave said, leading the way out of the room. Teyla closed the door behind her, leaving it slightly ajar and the two of them made their way back downstairs.
And what the hell was he supposed to do with this woman and her son now? Teyla was kind and beautiful-God, she was gorgeous-but Dave had work to do. He hadn’t planned on entertaining his sick brother or his sick brother’s girlfriend, friend, whatever. Wife? He glanced at her hand where a wedding ring should be and saw nothing. John would have told him if he’d gotten married again, wouldn’t he?
The afternoon passed slowly. When Teyla took Torren upstairs for a nap, she didn’t come back down, and Dave found her sitting by John’s bedside, reading. He retreated to his office, forcing himself to get a bit of work done. When his stomach started to growl with hunger, he wandered past John’s room on his way down the stairs to fix dinner, wondering if Teyla was still sitting next to him.
She wasn’t just sitting next to him; she was hanging on to him as he retched and gagged in the bathroom. He seemed only half awake and like he would have fallen head first into the toilet without her keeping him upright. His head hung on his neck, and he breathed heavily through his nose.
“He will not stop throwing up,” Teyla said when she saw Dave standing in the doorway. “I fear he’s is becoming badly dehydrated.”
Dave glanced out the window, and even through the darkness he could see the storm had picked up again. Teyla looked up at him, and for the first time since they’d met (albeit it was only the night before), she looked unsure of herself or what to do.
Dave fished through the drawer next to the sink, pulling out a thermometer. John had stopped gagging for the moment, and Teyla eased him back, letting his head rest against her shoulder. Dave held the thermometer in his brother’s mouth, knowing the fever was going to be high. John’s cheeks were flushed red, while the rest of his skin looked gray, and Dave could feel the heat radiating from him.
John blinked open glassy eyes, staring at him. Dave turned away from the look, willing the thermometer to hurry up and take its reading already. A memory of his father, looking washed out and half dead like John was looking now flashed through his mind. His father had always looked like that the first day or two after his first couple of heart attacks. Glassy eyes staring, seeing but not seeing.
The thermometer beeped, and Dave pulled it out. It was one of those electronic ones, and he stared at the digital display in shock.
“103, even,” he said. And that was high-too high. “We should maybe take him in-there’s a hospital just down the road.”
John twisted in Teyla’s arms, gagging again. She leaned forward, supporting his head as his stomach rebelled again, but he’d long since thrown up anything he had in his stomach. She glanced at Dave and nodded, looking relieved at his suggestion.
It took both of them to worm John’s limp arms into his coat and then manhandle him to the garage. John was all but unconscious as Dave strapped him in. Teyla left then returned a few moments later, Torren bundled up and holding onto his green ball with a death grip. The roads were as bad as Dave had feared, but he’d taken his SUV for just that reason.
Hours later, Dave sat in a chair next to John, dozing lightly but waking up every few minutes to stare at the soft rise and fall of his brother’s chest. Per the local doctor, it was a flu. A bad flu, but still, just a flu. They’d given John something to quiet his stomach and fight the fever, and IV fluids were dealing with the dehydration. Already John looked better.
The hospital relatively empty, so John’s semi-private room was theirs for the moment. Teyla was stretched out in the bed next to John’s, sleeping. Torren lay curled up against his mother, and Dave had to admit, he really didn’t look anything like John.
His brother groaned as he shifted in the bed. He cracked open his eyes and stared at the ceiling in confusion.
“Hey,” Dave whispered, wary of waking Teyla. It had taken a lot of coaxing for him to finally get the woman to lay down.
John looked over at Dave, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “Dave?”
“Yeah,” Dave said, smiling. “Thanks for dropping in on me unannounced and then getting sick as a dog.”
John groaned, rubbing at his stomach.
“You okay?”
“Feel like crap,” John answered.
“Well, it’s just the flu. But if I get sick because of you…”
John smiled, just a faint upturn at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry. Hospital?”
“It’s a really bad flu and they wanted to keep you for the night, which brings me back to my original statement. If you get me sick, I will be seriously pissed off.”
John looked over to the other side of the room, his eyes darting around the room until they finally rested on Teyla and Torren. “They okay?”
“They’re fine-just tired. It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“Hmmm…”
John relaxed, not an easy task for someone already lying limp in bed. He looked like he was ready to fall asleep again. Now or never.
“So,” Dave started, leaning in closer when John opened heavy lids to look at him. “You and Teyla-”
“She’s my teammate, nothing more.”
“You’re not…you know…”
John sighed, shaking his head. “We’re not.”
“And Torren John?”
“Dave.”
Okay, maybe he was pushing it a little. If John wasn’t so sick, he’d probably have him by the throat. He held up his hands in surrender. “It’s cool, I just thought that if the two of you are not…” he waved his hand, “…and she’s available…”
How John managed to pull off the look of death while lying in a hospital bed, Dave did not know. But he was a smart man. It had been awhile since he and his brother had spent a lot of time together, and John wasn’t the boy Dave once knew, but Dave knew when to stop pushing. He smiled, shaking his head.
“She’s taken,” John whispered, sinking back into pillow and letting his eyes drift close. A moment later his breathing evened out in sleep.
“Whatever you say, brother. Whatever you say.”
END