Fic: Shoebox (PG)
Title: Shoebox
Author: R. Tom Mato
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for 'McKay and Mrs. Miller'
Notes: I can't write long stories. I tried. I had to cut it up because I suck at transition scenes. There are a few more of certain scenes I wanted to write and those will come as I am finally pleased with them. My use of tenses needs work.
Notes2: Read these first! Not So Imaginary.
===
Normally John didn't like taking leave. It had to be forced upon him with stern glares and backed up with subtle threats, and even that took a while to take effect. To John, any time away from his helicopters or, more recently, puddlejumpers, was wasted time. Until a few years ago he'd always made the obligatory once-a-year trip to see his parents but even then they could tell he would rather be flying. He hadn't even contacted them since he sent them the letter before leaving for Atlantis.
Him being here now was Rodney's fault. ("What? How long? Go see them right now and get back into their good graces, because, I swear, if I have to eat some tofu-ham thing for Christmas I will murder people.") John had wanted Rodney to come as well, because part of him wanted them to properly meet him. He had even considered asking to get his parents security clearance, since that conversation was going to take a lot of explaining.
Jeannie had roped Rodney into visiting her, though how she found out they had leave he wasn't sure.
The visit hadn't been that bad, he had to admit. Things were awkward for a couple days because really, it had been years. He'd gotten the lecture from his father about not putting his mother through stress like that and that it couldn't have been so secret that he couldn't have sent a postcard, for crissakes. No news had been good news, he'd said, but he didn't want to do that again.
His mother had just cried a bit and hugged the air out of him and fed him, asking the usual questions. Had John made any friends in his unit? Was there a nice girl in his life? A nice boy, maybe? Which led to his father calmly defending his manly honor because John had just sat there with a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his open mouth for a good three minutes. Of course even then all he said was "the boy will tell us when he's ready, don't go scaring him off after we just got him back." John wasn't sure what to think of that.
"John, are you up there?" his mother's voice drifted up through the hallway to the attic.
"Yeah, just a sec," he called back.
"No, no, I'll come up." He heard her footsteps and soon she was crouching in the low attic next to him. "What are you looking for? I've told your father to come up here a hundred times and get this stuff organized, but he never listens. Retired, he says, means not having to do any work."
She said it pleasantly and John smiled. "The box of stuff I had when I was younger," he told her, deliberately vague. "I was about nine or so."
"Hmm, I think it might be more toward the back if we've had it that long."
John nodded and waded through the boxes. Really, he didn't even remember most of this stuff. Had they had this much stuff when they were moving around? Base houses weren't *that* big. He pushed aside some more boxes and pulled one forward that had his name scrawled in black marker on the side. He had to dig inside it a bit but then his hands closed over the large shoebox and he felt a rush of anticipation. His mother looked up as he came back with the box and he could see the emotions pass over her face.
"Oh," she whispered. "That box."
He felt the apologetic smile start on his lips before he pushed it back. "Yeah."
Her face carefully settled into neutrality. "You haven't looked at that box since you graduated from high school."
"Yeah," he repeated, fingers clutching the box a little tighter.
After a long moment, his mother stood and gave a little nod. "Your plane leaves this afternoon, right? I'll have to get cooking if there's to be enough to send for the both of you." She walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading back to the stairs.
John felt his entire body tense and he was speaking before he knew it. "He's real."
She looked back at him and smiled. It wasn't a humoring smile, but it wasn't sincere either and John had the urge to get Rodney on the phone and make her listen. "I know, sweetheart."
When John left later that afternoon he hid the box in his duffel bag, so he wouldn't have to explain it to his father as well. His mother would at least wait until he was gone to tell him.
===
Back at the SGC John found that Rodney had beaten him there, so he just dropped his duffel bag in his temporary quarters and took the smaller bag that was stuffed with tupperware to the labs. As he'd predicted, Rodney was there hunched over his desk and clicking away at something on his laptop. It made John smile and he leaned against the doorframe, feeling a vague sense of relief. It shouldn't be so easy to doubt someone's entire existance just because they were out of sight.
"You know, we really don't have to work until tomorrow," he stated, watching with amusement as Rodney jumped a little. The other man turned toward him and grinned back.
"Yes, yes, but I'm not working at the moment. Come here." He turned the laptop screen as John walked over and held the cursor over a thumbnail. "Jeannie gave these to me before I left. Said I had four years to catch up on so I'd better start here."
They were pictures, he realized. Lots of pictures, all dated. The ones here were dated about five years ago and displayed a small, red-faced baby in a pink knit hat. His niece, apparently. Rodney left that folder and went to another with last week's date on it.
"Madison's a genius, really. Thankfully she got her brains from our side of the family." Rodney clicked on one of the pictures and it took up the entire screen, showing John a rather complexly put-together building of some sort of toy blocks that was taller than the four-year-old standing next to it and grinning. "I'll need to visit more often to make sure she gets the proper influence in her life or she'll be wasting her teenage years moping in her room writing bad, depressing poetry."
"Wouldn't want that," John agreed, playing along. "Why don't you take that to your room while I go heat up the food my mom sent with me? We can eat and you can tell me all about it."
"Oh!" Rodney turned to stare at the bag with a wistful expression. Was he drooling? "She sent food?"
"Yeah, see?" He held the bag open to display the containers. "I think there's some pie in there, too."
Rodney was already getting up and shutting his laptop down. "What are you waiting for? Go get it ready. Starving man here; I've lived off Caleb's so-called cooking for the last week. I need real food."
John nodded sympathetically, though his grin ruined it. "Wouldn't want you wasting away. See you in a few." He gave another nod before heading out of the lab and to the mess.
===
The shoebox was kept under the bed in his quarters on the Daedalus and the moment they were back on Atlantis John gave quick hellos to everyone before taking it to his room.
John plopped down on the bed, box in his lap, and ran a hand over the lid reverently. After Rodney had left him he'd gathered up everything that had been his and put it inside. It had spent his teenage years under his bed and he'd pulled it out on bad days when he had to convince himself that his friend was real. The day he had graduated high school he'd taken everything out and spread it across the bed and the floor. Colorings, drawings, small toys, and notebooks that held equations scrawled in two completely different hands. Seeing it was always enough to ground him and this time was no different. Then he packed it all back up and hid it inside another, larger box to decrease the chances of it 'accidentally' getting lost when his parents moved.
Rodney had noticed the box and had spent the entire trip home bugging him about what it was. It probably would have helped if John hadn't simply given him a shameless smile and a shrug, but teasing his friend was always fun. He'd find out soon enough. It was for him, after all.
Author: R. Tom Mato
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for 'McKay and Mrs. Miller'
Notes: I can't write long stories. I tried. I had to cut it up because I suck at transition scenes. There are a few more of certain scenes I wanted to write and those will come as I am finally pleased with them. My use of tenses needs work.
Notes2: Read these first! Not So Imaginary.
===
Normally John didn't like taking leave. It had to be forced upon him with stern glares and backed up with subtle threats, and even that took a while to take effect. To John, any time away from his helicopters or, more recently, puddlejumpers, was wasted time. Until a few years ago he'd always made the obligatory once-a-year trip to see his parents but even then they could tell he would rather be flying. He hadn't even contacted them since he sent them the letter before leaving for Atlantis.
Him being here now was Rodney's fault. ("What? How long? Go see them right now and get back into their good graces, because, I swear, if I have to eat some tofu-ham thing for Christmas I will murder people.") John had wanted Rodney to come as well, because part of him wanted them to properly meet him. He had even considered asking to get his parents security clearance, since that conversation was going to take a lot of explaining.
Jeannie had roped Rodney into visiting her, though how she found out they had leave he wasn't sure.
The visit hadn't been that bad, he had to admit. Things were awkward for a couple days because really, it had been years. He'd gotten the lecture from his father about not putting his mother through stress like that and that it couldn't have been so secret that he couldn't have sent a postcard, for crissakes. No news had been good news, he'd said, but he didn't want to do that again.
His mother had just cried a bit and hugged the air out of him and fed him, asking the usual questions. Had John made any friends in his unit? Was there a nice girl in his life? A nice boy, maybe? Which led to his father calmly defending his manly honor because John had just sat there with a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his open mouth for a good three minutes. Of course even then all he said was "the boy will tell us when he's ready, don't go scaring him off after we just got him back." John wasn't sure what to think of that.
"John, are you up there?" his mother's voice drifted up through the hallway to the attic.
"Yeah, just a sec," he called back.
"No, no, I'll come up." He heard her footsteps and soon she was crouching in the low attic next to him. "What are you looking for? I've told your father to come up here a hundred times and get this stuff organized, but he never listens. Retired, he says, means not having to do any work."
She said it pleasantly and John smiled. "The box of stuff I had when I was younger," he told her, deliberately vague. "I was about nine or so."
"Hmm, I think it might be more toward the back if we've had it that long."
John nodded and waded through the boxes. Really, he didn't even remember most of this stuff. Had they had this much stuff when they were moving around? Base houses weren't *that* big. He pushed aside some more boxes and pulled one forward that had his name scrawled in black marker on the side. He had to dig inside it a bit but then his hands closed over the large shoebox and he felt a rush of anticipation. His mother looked up as he came back with the box and he could see the emotions pass over her face.
"Oh," she whispered. "That box."
He felt the apologetic smile start on his lips before he pushed it back. "Yeah."
Her face carefully settled into neutrality. "You haven't looked at that box since you graduated from high school."
"Yeah," he repeated, fingers clutching the box a little tighter.
After a long moment, his mother stood and gave a little nod. "Your plane leaves this afternoon, right? I'll have to get cooking if there's to be enough to send for the both of you." She walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading back to the stairs.
John felt his entire body tense and he was speaking before he knew it. "He's real."
She looked back at him and smiled. It wasn't a humoring smile, but it wasn't sincere either and John had the urge to get Rodney on the phone and make her listen. "I know, sweetheart."
When John left later that afternoon he hid the box in his duffel bag, so he wouldn't have to explain it to his father as well. His mother would at least wait until he was gone to tell him.
===
Back at the SGC John found that Rodney had beaten him there, so he just dropped his duffel bag in his temporary quarters and took the smaller bag that was stuffed with tupperware to the labs. As he'd predicted, Rodney was there hunched over his desk and clicking away at something on his laptop. It made John smile and he leaned against the doorframe, feeling a vague sense of relief. It shouldn't be so easy to doubt someone's entire existance just because they were out of sight.
"You know, we really don't have to work until tomorrow," he stated, watching with amusement as Rodney jumped a little. The other man turned toward him and grinned back.
"Yes, yes, but I'm not working at the moment. Come here." He turned the laptop screen as John walked over and held the cursor over a thumbnail. "Jeannie gave these to me before I left. Said I had four years to catch up on so I'd better start here."
They were pictures, he realized. Lots of pictures, all dated. The ones here were dated about five years ago and displayed a small, red-faced baby in a pink knit hat. His niece, apparently. Rodney left that folder and went to another with last week's date on it.
"Madison's a genius, really. Thankfully she got her brains from our side of the family." Rodney clicked on one of the pictures and it took up the entire screen, showing John a rather complexly put-together building of some sort of toy blocks that was taller than the four-year-old standing next to it and grinning. "I'll need to visit more often to make sure she gets the proper influence in her life or she'll be wasting her teenage years moping in her room writing bad, depressing poetry."
"Wouldn't want that," John agreed, playing along. "Why don't you take that to your room while I go heat up the food my mom sent with me? We can eat and you can tell me all about it."
"Oh!" Rodney turned to stare at the bag with a wistful expression. Was he drooling? "She sent food?"
"Yeah, see?" He held the bag open to display the containers. "I think there's some pie in there, too."
Rodney was already getting up and shutting his laptop down. "What are you waiting for? Go get it ready. Starving man here; I've lived off Caleb's so-called cooking for the last week. I need real food."
John nodded sympathetically, though his grin ruined it. "Wouldn't want you wasting away. See you in a few." He gave another nod before heading out of the lab and to the mess.
===
The shoebox was kept under the bed in his quarters on the Daedalus and the moment they were back on Atlantis John gave quick hellos to everyone before taking it to his room.
John plopped down on the bed, box in his lap, and ran a hand over the lid reverently. After Rodney had left him he'd gathered up everything that had been his and put it inside. It had spent his teenage years under his bed and he'd pulled it out on bad days when he had to convince himself that his friend was real. The day he had graduated high school he'd taken everything out and spread it across the bed and the floor. Colorings, drawings, small toys, and notebooks that held equations scrawled in two completely different hands. Seeing it was always enough to ground him and this time was no different. Then he packed it all back up and hid it inside another, larger box to decrease the chances of it 'accidentally' getting lost when his parents moved.
Rodney had noticed the box and had spent the entire trip home bugging him about what it was. It probably would have helped if John hadn't simply given him a shameless smile and a shrug, but teasing his friend was always fun. He'd find out soon enough. It was for him, after all.