Speak, Memory (Stargate: Atlantis)
Title: Speak, Memory
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: 4.15 Outcast, explicitly.
Notes: I can't possibly thank bitter_crimson enough for all the help she gave me. *smooch*
Written for the picfor1000comm 2008 challenge. Picture posted at the end of the story.
Somehow, Dave manages to find him, even in Antarctica, farther away from home than even Afghanistan was, farther than any of the countless bases he's been assigned to over the years.
John sets the letter on the small bedside table, the only furniture in his quarters other than the bed he barely fits in. The paper threatens to blow over onto the floor as he opens his door, outside air rushing in.
Dad misses you, you know. He's too stubborn to admit it, we both know that. I wish you'd recognize that you miss him too, John. How long are you going to make him wait?
Stepping outside, the sun blinds him, reflecting off the miles of endless snow.
Zipping his coat up around his neck, and slipping on his sunglasses, he walks towards the choppers, and doesn't think he could get any colder.
~
It's surreal, stepping through the gate, General Landry greeting him with a grim, apologetic smile. The car ride to the airport seems to take hours, Ronon sticking nearly his entire head out the window. Once they’re aboard the plane, the stewardess hands him one of the small glass bottles silently, shaking her head with a small smile as he starts to reach for his wallet. He thanks her with a small nod, and orders a Coke for Ronon.
"Coke? What's that?" Ronon asks after the stewardess has moved on.
"You'll like it. I promise." John says, smiling across the aisle at the woman giving Ronon a strange, slightly suspicious look.
Ronon shrugs, says, "Okay," like nothing's wrong at all. He leans back into his seat as the cabin lights dim, looking at John once more before letting his eyes fall shut, slipping into sleep easily.
John watches the clouds change colors in the evening light as the sunset wanes off and night falls upon the earth, the stars beginning to come out in full. Even though Pegasus isn't visible, not without a telescope, John searches for it.
He doesn't find it.
The window's cold beneath the tips of his fingers as he wishes for Atlantis, for home, for anywhere but here.
~
Dave finds John in his childhood bedroom after dinner, eyes downcast as he enters, his steps hesitant, almost shy, and his hands moving restlessly over the envelope he’s holding.
“Dad wanted you to have this,” Dave says after a moment, and both men tense in the awkward silence that follows.
“Thanks,” John replies, not sure what else to say. Dave hands him the envelope, a small smile on his face, like maybe this will solve their differences, before leaving, silent as when he entered.
John opens the envelope and a pair of keys falls into his open palm.
John recognizes the keys, one golden and the other silver, remembers the nights his father snuck out the back door and walked towards the stables, something in his hand reflecting the moon's soft light. He remembers peeking over the staircase banister, watching his father approach the house through the glass of the door, hearing the metallic sound of something dropping onto the kitchen counter.
~
He remembers the words he said and the harsh words said back to him, remembers how he'd come home simply to say goodbye, that he was shipping out to Afghanistan in two days.
He remembers the door slamming behind him. He remembers not wanting to return.
"It's not my fault Nancy left, Dad!"
"Well, I suppose she finally saw what kind of man John Sheppard really is."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"We both know what it means, John. Now get out."
~
The door struggles to open at first, wood and metal stubborn in old age, unwilling to budge after John has turned the knob. He gives it a shove, shoulder pressing against the dusty wood, urging it open, and eventually, it opens with a loud groan. Disturbed by his movements, dust from the rafters and the surrounding stalls begins to cloud the air, and a cough escapes his lungs as he grasps for the light switch on the wall. The silver key slides back out of the lock easily, falling into his open palm.
Dust-covered frames house photographs years, even decades, old. John picks up the one closest to him, and through the thin layer covering the faces, he recognizes the younger versions of his father and Dave, and John - off to the side and away from the center of the photograph, the focus: his father, Dave, always the two of them together.
He sets the frame down and pushes back a flash of anger, of frustration; not at his father, even though he always chose Dave, always praised him before John, if he remembered to at all. Instead, his anger's directed at his own memories, at his own selfish blame.
In the corner sits a well-aged, leather-covered chest, padlock hanging loosely and nearly forgotten. He shrugs, taking a chance, pressing the golden key into the lock, giving a small, surprised shudder as he turns the key and the lock clicks open.
Inside sits various pictures of John, at various ages and places.
There, among his high school diploma and various other papers from his time in school, sits the letter the Air Force sent him, informing him of his acceptance, congratulating him, listing the dates of when he flies out for basic training.
He recalls his father’s anger, frustration, and then, eventually, his acceptance.
He loses track of time, hours passing unnoticed as he revisits memories, many he’d forgotten, many he hadn’t, and many he never would.
~
The day after John returns, early morning light streams in through the windows, bathing the room in new warmth. Rodney sleeps, oblivious to the waking world outside, so blissfully ignorant of the movement coming from just outside their door.
The city is waking, but John watches Rodney sleep, warm and resting easily against his chest.
John's been up for hours, watching the moons in their respective orbits and then the sun as it began it's slow ascent, new light spreading across Atlantis' spires and her piers, over the miles and miles of alien ocean swaying beneath them.
The envelope sits on the bedside table; the flap lies open, keys peeking out, their surfaces shimmering in the light. John reaches forward, tucking the pair back inside the envelope, before opening the table's top drawer and pushing the envelope, the keys, the reminders, back, back, back, until his fingers reach the end.
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: 4.15 Outcast, explicitly.
Notes: I can't possibly thank bitter_crimson enough for all the help she gave me. *smooch*
Written for the picfor1000comm 2008 challenge. Picture posted at the end of the story.
Somehow, Dave manages to find him, even in Antarctica, farther away from home than even Afghanistan was, farther than any of the countless bases he's been assigned to over the years.
John sets the letter on the small bedside table, the only furniture in his quarters other than the bed he barely fits in. The paper threatens to blow over onto the floor as he opens his door, outside air rushing in.
Dad misses you, you know. He's too stubborn to admit it, we both know that. I wish you'd recognize that you miss him too, John. How long are you going to make him wait?
Stepping outside, the sun blinds him, reflecting off the miles of endless snow.
Zipping his coat up around his neck, and slipping on his sunglasses, he walks towards the choppers, and doesn't think he could get any colder.
~
It's surreal, stepping through the gate, General Landry greeting him with a grim, apologetic smile. The car ride to the airport seems to take hours, Ronon sticking nearly his entire head out the window. Once they’re aboard the plane, the stewardess hands him one of the small glass bottles silently, shaking her head with a small smile as he starts to reach for his wallet. He thanks her with a small nod, and orders a Coke for Ronon.
"Coke? What's that?" Ronon asks after the stewardess has moved on.
"You'll like it. I promise." John says, smiling across the aisle at the woman giving Ronon a strange, slightly suspicious look.
Ronon shrugs, says, "Okay," like nothing's wrong at all. He leans back into his seat as the cabin lights dim, looking at John once more before letting his eyes fall shut, slipping into sleep easily.
John watches the clouds change colors in the evening light as the sunset wanes off and night falls upon the earth, the stars beginning to come out in full. Even though Pegasus isn't visible, not without a telescope, John searches for it.
He doesn't find it.
The window's cold beneath the tips of his fingers as he wishes for Atlantis, for home, for anywhere but here.
~
Dave finds John in his childhood bedroom after dinner, eyes downcast as he enters, his steps hesitant, almost shy, and his hands moving restlessly over the envelope he’s holding.
“Dad wanted you to have this,” Dave says after a moment, and both men tense in the awkward silence that follows.
“Thanks,” John replies, not sure what else to say. Dave hands him the envelope, a small smile on his face, like maybe this will solve their differences, before leaving, silent as when he entered.
John opens the envelope and a pair of keys falls into his open palm.
John recognizes the keys, one golden and the other silver, remembers the nights his father snuck out the back door and walked towards the stables, something in his hand reflecting the moon's soft light. He remembers peeking over the staircase banister, watching his father approach the house through the glass of the door, hearing the metallic sound of something dropping onto the kitchen counter.
~
He remembers the words he said and the harsh words said back to him, remembers how he'd come home simply to say goodbye, that he was shipping out to Afghanistan in two days.
He remembers the door slamming behind him. He remembers not wanting to return.
"It's not my fault Nancy left, Dad!"
"Well, I suppose she finally saw what kind of man John Sheppard really is."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"We both know what it means, John. Now get out."
~
The door struggles to open at first, wood and metal stubborn in old age, unwilling to budge after John has turned the knob. He gives it a shove, shoulder pressing against the dusty wood, urging it open, and eventually, it opens with a loud groan. Disturbed by his movements, dust from the rafters and the surrounding stalls begins to cloud the air, and a cough escapes his lungs as he grasps for the light switch on the wall. The silver key slides back out of the lock easily, falling into his open palm.
Dust-covered frames house photographs years, even decades, old. John picks up the one closest to him, and through the thin layer covering the faces, he recognizes the younger versions of his father and Dave, and John - off to the side and away from the center of the photograph, the focus: his father, Dave, always the two of them together.
He sets the frame down and pushes back a flash of anger, of frustration; not at his father, even though he always chose Dave, always praised him before John, if he remembered to at all. Instead, his anger's directed at his own memories, at his own selfish blame.
In the corner sits a well-aged, leather-covered chest, padlock hanging loosely and nearly forgotten. He shrugs, taking a chance, pressing the golden key into the lock, giving a small, surprised shudder as he turns the key and the lock clicks open.
Inside sits various pictures of John, at various ages and places.
There, among his high school diploma and various other papers from his time in school, sits the letter the Air Force sent him, informing him of his acceptance, congratulating him, listing the dates of when he flies out for basic training.
He recalls his father’s anger, frustration, and then, eventually, his acceptance.
He loses track of time, hours passing unnoticed as he revisits memories, many he’d forgotten, many he hadn’t, and many he never would.
~
The day after John returns, early morning light streams in through the windows, bathing the room in new warmth. Rodney sleeps, oblivious to the waking world outside, so blissfully ignorant of the movement coming from just outside their door.
The city is waking, but John watches Rodney sleep, warm and resting easily against his chest.
John's been up for hours, watching the moons in their respective orbits and then the sun as it began it's slow ascent, new light spreading across Atlantis' spires and her piers, over the miles and miles of alien ocean swaying beneath them.
The envelope sits on the bedside table; the flap lies open, keys peeking out, their surfaces shimmering in the light. John reaches forward, tucking the pair back inside the envelope, before opening the table's top drawer and pushing the envelope, the keys, the reminders, back, back, back, until his fingers reach the end.