Fic: "Great and empty, true enough," says the stone
Title: ' "Great and empty, true enough," says the stone'
Author: gentle_thorns
Rating: Not very high. Maybe PG.
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard but only a little. Really, blink and you'll miss it.
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own these characters. If I did, I would not be writing fanfic and I would also have money for food.
Summary: "We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." - Joseph Campbell John's mother always used to tell him that the surest way to make God laugh was to make plans of your own.
Notes: Written for Stargate: Anonymous. This fic drove me crazy and I am really happy to finally get rid of it. Thanks go to moonmip and viciouswishes for beta work. All mistakes are my own and I apologise for the places where I ignored their advice. Also, thanks to geki for help with the first few paragraphs. Title from the poem "Conversation with a Stone" by Wislawa Szymborska. It can be read here .
***
John never talks about anything of consequence.
He doesn't really trust anyone he doesn't know, even when he claims them as his team, so he makes the others tell stories over the campfire. He claims that it's a team bonding exercise.
Rodney talks about music and science, his stories usually beginning with, 'Of course, you people wouldn't understand, but...'; Ronon tells them about Sateda and what it was like before the Wraith came; Teyla tells them about the Athosian people, how she came to be their leader.
John's stories are all surfing and popcorn. He doesn't tell them too much about himself.
One night, Teyla talks about her childhood. She was always moving around, always in fear of the Wraith. She talks about the first time she felt them coming and the night when they took her parents. Afterwards, she tilts her head at John curiously and asks what he was like as a child, how it was to grow up on a world without the Wraith. He thinks about the question and stares at the fire for a few moments.
" I bet you were popular. Probably captain of the football team," Rodney says, turning towards Teyla. He talks about movies set in American high schools, saying that not fighting the Wraith just gives them more time to perfect killing one another. John shakes his head.
John thinks about growing up without any real friends, never staying in one place long enough to make them. He looks at his team and thinks 'this time' and tells them the truth.
The words stick in his throat - cling and choke him. " I was... well." He smiles bitterly and his mouth twists. " I was very - I don't know- angry, I guess," he tells them. It's hard to remember and even harder to talk about, maybe because he's held his tongue for so long. " For a long time, I was angry." He haltingly begins to tell them all about it, his words slow and stilted and his voice quiet. As he tells it, he remembers. The details seem as sharp as if it were all happening again.
***
John's mother always used to tell him that the surest way to make God laugh was to make plans of your own. His clearest memories of her involve coming home from school to find her in the kitchen with smudges of flour on her cheeks and forearms. She would hug him tightly, getting flour all over him and into his hair. Then, after he finished his homework, she would lean against the table and tell him stories from her life.
After she was gone, he preferred to remember her that way: smiling at him, her apron around her waist, her smile curving up like his and wisps of hair wild around her face.
He only has one picture of her, all the more precious for being small and faded. He keeps it hidden - safe in the back of whatever book he happens to be reading. He doesn't want to crease the edges, but he can't bring himself to frame it either. Sometimes when he needs to remember her, he takes it out and looks at it.
He can see now that her smiles never reached her eyes and his heart always breaks a little for her. He thinks that maybe she always had time for him because there was so little else in her life.
She was from a small town in the middle of nowhere, just outside an Air Force base. John's father had swept into her life during his posting there, a new regular in the diner where she worked. He had bought her flowers and taken her out to the movies. She thought he was charming and exciting. She married him to get away from her dull life, thought they would escape together.
She had never wanted to be a military wife, and hadn't expected a child so soon or a husband who was never there. She had wanted a permanent home and wide-open spaces and a place that wasn't surrounded by guards and gates. She wanted it the same way that John and his father wanted the sky. It was something that his parents had had in common; they both hated cages.
After a while, she and John developed a way to make anywhere seem like home, no matter where they were living. They would unpack all the familiar things and put them in the same places in the identical houses. She would bake; he would work; and they were comfortable together. John always knew when his dad was home because the house wouldn't smell of cinnamon cookies when he got back from school.
John would do his homework in his room, instead of the kitchen, and they would eat dinner in the dining room. His father would smile and say 'How are you, kiddo?' and then ask him questions about school. It was like having a stranger in the house.
John began to prefer it when his father wasn't around - things were always calmer when he was working elsewhere - flying missions, or out doing training and maneuvers. His mother always seemed diminished when he came back, unsure of her place with him. They would argue quietly when they thought John was asleep and her eyes wouldn't quite meet John's when they ate breakfast the next morning.
On those days (if they were living somewhere where he could) John would climb up onto the roof and lie on his back watching the planes go up, feeling the vastness of the sky and pretending that he was part of it. He would imagine taking his mother away from this.
When he was twelve, his dad came to pick him up from school and they moved again, leaving his mother behind in a cemetery in small town Texas, like the place she had come from. John hated his dad for that. He had trapped her in death as she had been in life.
His dad took a desk job in California so that he would be around more. John started tutoring so that he wouldn't have to go straight home from school to an empty kitchen and his father's questions. The two of them chafed against each other - his father sore about being grounded and John angry about his mother's death. He never wanted to get married, he decided. He was too much like them both, too anxious to fly away.
One day, on a school trip to San Francisco, mostly just doing anything that would upset his dad, John kissed Jamie Peterson. It felt like how he imagined flying would be, like the first time he managed to Ollie without falling over, like seeing the biggest wave coming at him and riding it to shore, like being part of the sea or the sky - something much bigger than himself.
He spent the spring jumping over pipes and kissing one of the boys from his math class and stopped thinking about the hard landing waiting for him somewhere down the line.
For a while, he thought that this was it. That he'd actually get to stay in one school for the rest of his education - finally catch up with everything he'd missed, start a year when he actually wasn't behind or ahead. It didn't last, of course. It never did. Home was a house in whatever Air Force base his dad was assigned to, until he wasn't anymore.
A few months after he really settled in, they moved again. He took his scuffed shoes and his board to Washington D.C. and skipped his first day of school to spend an afternoon trying to nosegrind down a railing. He ended up on the ground, looking up at the sky. His arm was bleeding but he didn't notice. From this angle, it felt like he was part of that blue.
And then he picked himself up and did it all over again.
At the end of the day, when he finally made his way home, his dad had to take him to the emergency room. His arm needed twelve stitches.
***
He shows them the scar and shrugs.
" And then, of course, I ran away to the Air Force." John knows that the story doesn't end there. He thinks that it'll end in Atlantis - happy ever after in a galaxy far from home. His throat has started to hurt and he feels scared again - like he's given them too much of himself all at once. It isn't in his nature to be this generous.
None of them know what to say after that and the conversation dies out. John stretches. " Well," he says, all easy smiles again just like his mother, " I'm going to get some sleep. Ronon, take first watch."
He crawls into his sleeping bag and shuts his eyes.
***
Later, when they're back in Atlantis, Rodney holds him tightly and kisses his neck and says, " My parents weren't happy either. I mean, they really weren't. Made each other crazy. It wasn't your fault, you idiot."
John yawns and remembers all those commanding officers who asked him what he wanted. Why he wasn't more ambitious. Why he didn't settle down with a nice girl. The men who told him that he could make it to General if only he'd try harder. He thinks about gates and walls and wonders what he ever did to be worthy of this.
He looks back on it and can't see how he got here but he can't imagine things unfolding any other way. He thinks about a fluke of genetics and timing that put him in Atlantis. He deliberately made no plans for himself, except to fly. He hadn't wanted what his parents had, so he tried not to care too much. All the choices that led him here were made by gut instinct or by coin toss, but somehow here he is anyway.
" She would have liked you," John says. " Remind me to show you a picture sometime."
Author: gentle_thorns
Rating: Not very high. Maybe PG.
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard but only a little. Really, blink and you'll miss it.
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own these characters. If I did, I would not be writing fanfic and I would also have money for food.
Summary: "We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." - Joseph Campbell John's mother always used to tell him that the surest way to make God laugh was to make plans of your own.
Notes: Written for Stargate: Anonymous. This fic drove me crazy and I am really happy to finally get rid of it. Thanks go to moonmip and viciouswishes for beta work. All mistakes are my own and I apologise for the places where I ignored their advice. Also, thanks to geki for help with the first few paragraphs. Title from the poem "Conversation with a Stone" by Wislawa Szymborska. It can be read here .
***
John never talks about anything of consequence.
He doesn't really trust anyone he doesn't know, even when he claims them as his team, so he makes the others tell stories over the campfire. He claims that it's a team bonding exercise.
Rodney talks about music and science, his stories usually beginning with, 'Of course, you people wouldn't understand, but...'; Ronon tells them about Sateda and what it was like before the Wraith came; Teyla tells them about the Athosian people, how she came to be their leader.
John's stories are all surfing and popcorn. He doesn't tell them too much about himself.
One night, Teyla talks about her childhood. She was always moving around, always in fear of the Wraith. She talks about the first time she felt them coming and the night when they took her parents. Afterwards, she tilts her head at John curiously and asks what he was like as a child, how it was to grow up on a world without the Wraith. He thinks about the question and stares at the fire for a few moments.
" I bet you were popular. Probably captain of the football team," Rodney says, turning towards Teyla. He talks about movies set in American high schools, saying that not fighting the Wraith just gives them more time to perfect killing one another. John shakes his head.
John thinks about growing up without any real friends, never staying in one place long enough to make them. He looks at his team and thinks 'this time' and tells them the truth.
The words stick in his throat - cling and choke him. " I was... well." He smiles bitterly and his mouth twists. " I was very - I don't know- angry, I guess," he tells them. It's hard to remember and even harder to talk about, maybe because he's held his tongue for so long. " For a long time, I was angry." He haltingly begins to tell them all about it, his words slow and stilted and his voice quiet. As he tells it, he remembers. The details seem as sharp as if it were all happening again.
***
John's mother always used to tell him that the surest way to make God laugh was to make plans of your own. His clearest memories of her involve coming home from school to find her in the kitchen with smudges of flour on her cheeks and forearms. She would hug him tightly, getting flour all over him and into his hair. Then, after he finished his homework, she would lean against the table and tell him stories from her life.
After she was gone, he preferred to remember her that way: smiling at him, her apron around her waist, her smile curving up like his and wisps of hair wild around her face.
He only has one picture of her, all the more precious for being small and faded. He keeps it hidden - safe in the back of whatever book he happens to be reading. He doesn't want to crease the edges, but he can't bring himself to frame it either. Sometimes when he needs to remember her, he takes it out and looks at it.
He can see now that her smiles never reached her eyes and his heart always breaks a little for her. He thinks that maybe she always had time for him because there was so little else in her life.
She was from a small town in the middle of nowhere, just outside an Air Force base. John's father had swept into her life during his posting there, a new regular in the diner where she worked. He had bought her flowers and taken her out to the movies. She thought he was charming and exciting. She married him to get away from her dull life, thought they would escape together.
She had never wanted to be a military wife, and hadn't expected a child so soon or a husband who was never there. She had wanted a permanent home and wide-open spaces and a place that wasn't surrounded by guards and gates. She wanted it the same way that John and his father wanted the sky. It was something that his parents had had in common; they both hated cages.
After a while, she and John developed a way to make anywhere seem like home, no matter where they were living. They would unpack all the familiar things and put them in the same places in the identical houses. She would bake; he would work; and they were comfortable together. John always knew when his dad was home because the house wouldn't smell of cinnamon cookies when he got back from school.
John would do his homework in his room, instead of the kitchen, and they would eat dinner in the dining room. His father would smile and say 'How are you, kiddo?' and then ask him questions about school. It was like having a stranger in the house.
John began to prefer it when his father wasn't around - things were always calmer when he was working elsewhere - flying missions, or out doing training and maneuvers. His mother always seemed diminished when he came back, unsure of her place with him. They would argue quietly when they thought John was asleep and her eyes wouldn't quite meet John's when they ate breakfast the next morning.
On those days (if they were living somewhere where he could) John would climb up onto the roof and lie on his back watching the planes go up, feeling the vastness of the sky and pretending that he was part of it. He would imagine taking his mother away from this.
When he was twelve, his dad came to pick him up from school and they moved again, leaving his mother behind in a cemetery in small town Texas, like the place she had come from. John hated his dad for that. He had trapped her in death as she had been in life.
His dad took a desk job in California so that he would be around more. John started tutoring so that he wouldn't have to go straight home from school to an empty kitchen and his father's questions. The two of them chafed against each other - his father sore about being grounded and John angry about his mother's death. He never wanted to get married, he decided. He was too much like them both, too anxious to fly away.
One day, on a school trip to San Francisco, mostly just doing anything that would upset his dad, John kissed Jamie Peterson. It felt like how he imagined flying would be, like the first time he managed to Ollie without falling over, like seeing the biggest wave coming at him and riding it to shore, like being part of the sea or the sky - something much bigger than himself.
He spent the spring jumping over pipes and kissing one of the boys from his math class and stopped thinking about the hard landing waiting for him somewhere down the line.
For a while, he thought that this was it. That he'd actually get to stay in one school for the rest of his education - finally catch up with everything he'd missed, start a year when he actually wasn't behind or ahead. It didn't last, of course. It never did. Home was a house in whatever Air Force base his dad was assigned to, until he wasn't anymore.
A few months after he really settled in, they moved again. He took his scuffed shoes and his board to Washington D.C. and skipped his first day of school to spend an afternoon trying to nosegrind down a railing. He ended up on the ground, looking up at the sky. His arm was bleeding but he didn't notice. From this angle, it felt like he was part of that blue.
And then he picked himself up and did it all over again.
At the end of the day, when he finally made his way home, his dad had to take him to the emergency room. His arm needed twelve stitches.
***
He shows them the scar and shrugs.
" And then, of course, I ran away to the Air Force." John knows that the story doesn't end there. He thinks that it'll end in Atlantis - happy ever after in a galaxy far from home. His throat has started to hurt and he feels scared again - like he's given them too much of himself all at once. It isn't in his nature to be this generous.
None of them know what to say after that and the conversation dies out. John stretches. " Well," he says, all easy smiles again just like his mother, " I'm going to get some sleep. Ronon, take first watch."
He crawls into his sleeping bag and shuts his eyes.
***
Later, when they're back in Atlantis, Rodney holds him tightly and kisses his neck and says, " My parents weren't happy either. I mean, they really weren't. Made each other crazy. It wasn't your fault, you idiot."
John yawns and remembers all those commanding officers who asked him what he wanted. Why he wasn't more ambitious. Why he didn't settle down with a nice girl. The men who told him that he could make it to General if only he'd try harder. He thinks about gates and walls and wonders what he ever did to be worthy of this.
He looks back on it and can't see how he got here but he can't imagine things unfolding any other way. He thinks about a fluke of genetics and timing that put him in Atlantis. He deliberately made no plans for himself, except to fly. He hadn't wanted what his parents had, so he tried not to care too much. All the choices that led him here were made by gut instinct or by coin toss, but somehow here he is anyway.
" She would have liked you," John says. " Remind me to show you a picture sometime."