Fic: A new history of Captain John Sheppard Part 2 of 2 (McKay/Sheppard, PG)
Title:A new history of Captain John Sheppard, HM Aerial Corps, and M. Rodney McKay, Esq., FRS, with the Captains Emmagan and Dex, late of the West Indies, composed from a great number of actual surveys; and other materials regulated by many new scientifick observations of their Affections and Masculine Virtues. Drawn up from the Journals which were kept by the several Commanders, And from the Papers of M. Rodney McKay, Esq., FRS; In One Volume, written by A Lady of Quality.
Author: sheafrotherdon
Recipient: tropes
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Summary: September 1811, Halifax, Nova Scotia: His Majesty's Aerial Corps stand ready to welcome new additions to their number; an expedition late of the Antipodes. SGA/Temeraire crossover. Spoilers for the Temeraire novels, 1-5 (beware ye dragons!)
Author's notes: thank you to my cheer team for all their narrative suggestions and geographic knowledge, and to my wonderful beta for her indispensable work!
Part 1 of 2
***
". . . they found Bates, however, alive, not far from where Sumner had fallen, and quite well save for bruising and the conviction that he was to have been abandoned. Their . . . " McKay circled a finger to suggest the convoluted spinning of a battle in-flight. "They had passed over the same portion of country, again and again. Everett recovered; there were proper burial rites for Sumner. No one else was hurt and the intelligence gathered by the journey proved useful to our defense after Austerlitz, I believe."
John let out a breath and pulled steadily from his wine glass.
"It was foolhardy," said Dex, but his tone of voice was warm. He would, John knew, have done the same for one of his men, despite the risks and terrible consequences courted by such behavior. The stiffness in his shoulders relented by some small amount.
"It was also well done," Emmagan said gently. "We are of a mind." She offered Laurence a smile. "And so we sit here together, and fly beyond these walls as one. We are not the companions that many of our colleagues seek, whether because our skin speaks to a guilt many gentlemen's sons would like to forget, or because our ethics are . . ." She tilted her head. "We are troublemakers, perhaps."
Laurence turned his wineglass between his fingers, studying the wine within before lifting the cup and draining the larger part of it. "A captain and his dragon are commodities not to be squandered in time of war," he said quietly.
Sheppard saw Dex stiffen.
"And yet - and yet, friend," he said, holding up his hand in Dex's direction, "I strongly believe in the power of a man's conscience to act as check and balance upon the strictures of command." He held up his glass toward Sheppard. "I would be honored to fly with you at any time," he said, tipping his glass in deference before he drank.
"You have yet to hear the most astonishing portion," McKay offered, his cheeks ruddy from the vigor of his storytelling and possibly the quality of his wine.
"Rodney," Sheppard said, shifting uncomfortably on his chair.
"No, no. You were wrongly condemned, you know this is my belief, and that your exile should reap such a reward is all that restores my faith in . . ." He frowned. "I do not believe in God, so - I forget in what my faith resides." He stared into space. "Tricky."
"Perhaps you might finish your own tale," Emmagan suggested to Sheppard, refilling the glasses of all.
Sheppard clenched his jaw to keep his words tightly bound for a moment. "I was . . ." He pulled in a breath and smiled awkwardly at the tabletop. "A tribunal decided my - " Another pause. "I was sent to the breeding grounds in Newfoundland, to do what work they would bid me," he said at last, summoning determination. "I was, at least, among dragons."
"And there hatched Tripudio this April past," Emmagan said, deflecting from his discomfort with the ease of her own words. "A hatchling who would not be harnessed by the man selected for the task, but who chose the groundskeeper who had spent long nights in halting conversation with her egg."
"You?" Laurence asked Sheppard.
Sheppard nodded. "There was fury and wailing and the gnashing of teeth." He could not help but smile at the memory. "But she is half Native to this continent and none could predict the consequence of forcing her to chains."
"Which is how, against all their better judgment, they made him a captain again," McKay finished cheerfully. "And here he is. And here we are. Very satisfying all around. Of course I knew he was wasted as a groundskeeper upon first meeting him - few men born to the rank of shelter warden can calculate velocity in their heads. But then I am exceptionally intelligent, which is why I insisted he aid me in my scientific endeavors when first I visited the breeding grounds these two years past. And once he became captain, it stood to reason that I should accompany him as a member of his crew, albeit under extraordinary circumstances, because . . . " He broke off as a serving boy came into the room. "Oh, my. Is that treacle pudding?"
There was a moment of silence, and then laughter enough to heal a fracture or two of the many that lingered at Sheppard's core.
*****
It was unsurprising to Sheppard that Emmagan and Dex should volunteer to escort Laurence to the dragon shelters after they dined. Notwithstanding Emmagan's protestations that it was only for reason of monitoring Athos' continued health that she had business there, both she and Dex were transparently eager to see an Celestial for themselves. What did surprise him was that McKay did not join them, nor express a wish to follow in his own time. Instead he walked with Sheppard toward their rooms, demonstrating a talent for inconsequential conversation far beyond anything Sheppard had previously known.
It was not until they reached Sheppard's door that McKay first seemed discomfited. "I hope you do not feel anger toward me," he blurted, seemingly in earnest.
Sheppard blinked, his mind utterly blank. "Do I have cause?" he asked, baffled.
"Dinner," McKay said, waving a hand. "I know it cannot be easy to listen to that particular tale, and . . ."
Sheppard silenced him with a shake of his head. "It is nothing."
"No. No, I beg to differ," McKay replied, and his expression was laid so utterly bare that Sheppard felt himself quite unequal to meeting his gaze. Gone was the bluster and cheerful mockery of their table - here, McKay was sincere. "I know I placed you under the most awkward circumstance by plunging into that chapter of your life. But I also knew that Laurence's opinion would carry weight with you, and I trusted that he would see the matter as we have done."
Sheppard frowned, confused and strangely unsettled. "You gambled that he would . . ."
"It was no gamble," McKay said, spine straight, his breath a fraction unsteady. "None who are of character still hold that occasion against you, John. None but you."
Sheppard ducked his head that he might think.
"I hoped that his knowing and his approbation might soothe the sting that yet troubles you." McKay sighed. "If I did wrong, it was well meant."
"Rodney." Sheppard shook his head again and looked upon his friend. "I . . . find it disquieting to be so well known by someone other than myself. That is all."
McKay's countenance stayed blank for a moment, and the evening, it seemed to Sheppard, trembled on a precipice. But then he smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet in the manner of one much younger than himself. "You should not have befriended a genius, then," he said wickedly.
Sheppard laughed, conflicted but relieved, and set his hand upon his door. "I take my leave of you, sir," he smiled.
"And I you." McKay nodded sharply, his face still reflecting light. "Sleep well. I hear tell that our mission tomorrow is routine, which as you well know . . ."
Sheppard groaned. "Means only mischief."
"Exactly," McKay said, pointing one finger. "Store up what rest you may." And he turned on his heel, whistling off-key as he strode toward his own rooms at the far end of the hall.
Sheppard could not help but watch him go.
*****
Routine settled swiftly upon the garrison, the new dragons and their crews absorbed into the steady patrol of the seas and skies. With increased numbers came increased strength; the share of American vessels brought to port, their men impressed, their cargoes confiscated, rose through fall, and there was prize a-plenty for each formation to share. A heady jubilation took hold of the covert, men and dragons both buoyed by ease of action and portioned wealth. It sat ill with Sheppard, who could not find it in himself to trust that such days of ease would last, nor that their actions would go unanswered by the Republic. Where Kavanagh and Niam argued for periods of great rest between fights, Sheppard drove his crew to longer practice, more particular attention to each link and buckle of Tripudio's rigging, and greater attention to defensive maneuvers he hoped he might never have cause to employ. In such labor he found solace for the tactical bent of his mind, yet also for the sentiment of his body, gripped by an affection that troubled him to his core. His dreams disturbed him, rousing him to wakefulness of late, sticky and spent, shivering with the consequence of thoughts he should not allow. But he could not avoid the subject of his mind's nocturnal bent, so resolved instead to seek McKay's company, to attempt, by application of his considerable will, to master the press of his feelings. By inches he felt his efforts take root, found it easier to fall into ready banter and quell the pitch of his stomach, the reach of his nights' heady web. Without a doubt McKay could not be more than his firm and fast friend; would not consider more, even if God and country did not dictate the proper course of action in such matters. In that knowledge Sheppard took refuge, and shut away the part of himself that wished for more.
"These early hours are quite intolerable," McKay offered one morning over breakfast. He clumsily filled his coffee cup, having drunk one full portion before attempting speech, and drank again. "Do you hate me, Sheppard? Did I sin in a previous life?"
"I believe the concept of sin and previous lives do not necessarily occupy the same theological ground," Emmagan said blithely. She helped herself to a greater share of bacon.
McKay tipped back his cup and filled it again. "You are scarcely to be borne at such an hour," he said plaintively, dragging a dish of eggs closer to his plate. "Dex. Sheppard. Laurence." There was a general murmur of greeting amid the more serious business of stomachs being filled. "And still, I beg an answer - why do you drag my body from bed while the sun is still at slumber?"
It was greatly to Sheppard's credit that his mind did not slip to dangerous places at such a question. "I wish to test the new maneuvers Banks suggests," he said simply.
"So that we may what? Avoid the calamity of a mid-air collision with - oh, that's correct, there is no such danger, since the dragons located in Boston have not ventured north in months."
"We shall be prepared," Sheppard said calmly. "More coffee, perhaps?"
McKay grunted at him, and gestured with a fork.
"I believe Dr. McKay has been kept from repose by our dragons," Laurence put in, a half-smile visible behind his coffee cup.
"Oh?" Sheppard asked.
"Last night it was a debate on the principles of gravity, I hear." Laurence wiped his mouth upon a napkin. "Temeraire would like to know what gravity is, rather than rely only upon the observation of its effects. Dr. McKay was voluble in his dismissal of the idea that such knowledge is necessary as an immediate prerequisite for the advancement of further scientific study. And Tripudio wished to know at what height she must fly to best escape the effects of gravity, yet still breathe her fill."
McKay shifted in his chair. "I could not simply leave the conversation at such a point," he said churlishly.
"Did you sleep at all?" asked Dex.
"Some?" McKay answered. "And once we are done with a morning of freezing our extremities into attitudes of rigor aboard the back of a dragon who wishes to go into space, well - then I shall take to my room and study the inside of my eyelids until called for dinner, and none shall say a word."
"Quite so," Emmagan nodded.
"We shall guard your silence with our honor," Sheppard added.
"Oh, do quiet yourselves," McKay grumbled, and cut into a sausage with relish.
The morning's practice was, as McKay had predicted, devilishly cold, November having pushed into the province with a fearsome bite. Though he would be struck down as an American before admitting such, Sheppard conceded to himself that it might be of benefit to the health of his entire crew to forgo first-light practices in favor of midday runs for at least a portion of the coming months. He resolved to discuss such with Campbell and Tripudio as soon as a toddy had thawed him from the inside out.
"Sheppard?" Tripudio called. "A commotion below, do you see it?"
His attention called back from anticipation of a warm fire and hot meal, Sheppard did - a bustling in the main courtyard; a readying of two companies of dragons at once; a Pascal's Blue tearing into animal flesh by the far pasture, ravenous as though from a long and grueling flight. "Defensive positions!" Sheppard called, not knowing the precise cause of what stirred the garrison, and he was gratified to feel the shift of men, the readying of arms, the call of, "Watch - clear!" from west, east, and south.
"The Americans?" McKay shouted, pistol cocked.
"I cannot guess," Sheppard replied, and had Tripudio circle before landing on bare earth at the covert's furthest reach, out beyond the business of armored dragons and readying men.
"Captain Sheppard!" called Jinto, running out from the inner sanctum of the garrison, flushed with exertion and the wind that swept in from the sea. "Indian attack - Harrison's men in Indiana. The Americans are to arms."
Sheppard made brisk work of his carabiners and slid neatly to ground. "Plainfolk, or the army?"
"Hard to tell - Is all confusion, says the courier," Jinto panted. "Been here but half an hour - militias raised in the border country, and p'haps more if the big men agree to it. It will take them time to march."
"Unless they are carried by dragons," McKay said, still sitting at Tripudio's shoulder, his mouth twisting.
Sheppard shook his head. "They have swift, light, battle-ready creatures at Boston," he said. "Not carriers of men."
"I am battle-ready," put in Tripudio, "and could carry more than my crew if I were called upon to do so."
Sheppard nodded. "Indeed. But we need not fear the wooden carriers of Napoleon's army. And it will take time to outfit any dragon with the means to carry soldiers into this frozen north." He looked past Jinto as Campbell and the rest of the ground crew began to arrive. "Should we stay in harness?" he called.
"No, sir," Campbell said, drawing closer. "Two companies aloft soon enough - we're under orders to rest and be ready for evening maneuvers." He offered Sheppard a significant look. "We'll know more by then. Know something worth knowing, I expect, as opposed to this."
Sheppard nodded. "Very good." He turned back to Tripudio. "You will rest and warm yourself?"
She nudged his arm with her nose. "And eat. I will be ready." She shivered, the movement of her scales causing McKay to yelp and hurry his carabiner loose. "It has been some time since we saw a real fight."
"And I would have us not see battle yet under these circumstances," Sheppard said, stroking her flank, a hand at the ready to steady McKay as he plummeted gracelessly to earth. "McKay, if you'd join me - I would like to know more about these circumstances, and your interest in the interior nations would . . ."
"They were probably provoked," McKay said waspishly. "I would certainly see fit to shoot whatever was at hand at an American who blundered into my territory."
"And have we done better as the King's men?" Sheppard asked.
"Absolutely not. We are equally convinced of our own superiority and therefore just as grievously stupid on this score," McKay said, striding past him. "Come, come. Let us hear first-, second-, or possibly third-hand what disaster has been now been wrought."
"Campbell," Sheppard said, nodding as he made to follow.
"Captain," said Campbell, and Sheppard swore the man was amused.
*****
"We have intercepted communiqués from Fort Harrison and Fort Wayne," said Caldwell, tracing the path of the British scouts across a map. "With each successive transfer of information, we have witnessed an increase in hyperbole - the dispatches sent to Washington and other locales to the east assert Tecumseh was aided by British forces."
"As if he needed our help," McKay said witheringly.
"We have proved friend to his people before," Emmagan countered gently. "And have encouraged him in forestalling American expansion. It will not prove so hard for Madison's generals to presume to see our hand."
"Or to use this as excuse," Dex offered. "Truth or not."
"My concern exactly," Caldwell said. He straightened and looked toward Sheppard, to Kavanagh, Niam, Laurence, Lorne and their seconds. "I anticipate our border patrols will return with news of militia movement. I pray that the seas might prove too rough for vessels to be directed north, but cannot count upon that fact."
"And they will surely send dragons," Laurence put in. "Across land. There are farms enough across the north to supply their needs. If they believe this a concerted effort, the first shot in a larger war . . ."
"We must hold the borders," Caldwell said. "If ships enter Her Majesty's waters, we must repel them. We will not give them cause to see this as opportunity. They must be convinced to hold."
"How many died?" asked McKay. His tone of voice suggested the information was of little consequence to him, but his expression said otherwise to those who watched slant of his mouth. Sheppard eyed him cautiously, anticipating sharp words and an assault upon the chain of command.
"At Prophetstown?" Caldwell asked.
McKay nodded.
"Some five dozen Americans - considerably fewer of Tecumseh's men."
"A waste," McKay said to the tabletop he now studied. He looked up when silence met his remarks. "I am ready, gentlemen; I stand ready, ma'am."
Caldwell eyed him for a further moment, then nodded. "Make preparations," he ordered. "You fly at first dark."
*****
A waning moon shone overhead as they took to the air that night, still six days from the lunar darkness that would have rendered them blind, save for stars. The night was crisp and cold, each man and woman aloft wrapped in layers of silk and wool and leather, scarves about their face and aviator's caps pulled low. For once McKay had not forgotten his gloves - Sheppard could hear his low curses as he fumbled with his compass, fingers made clumsy by leather and cold; someone was, apparently, "the son of a festering marsupial's behind."
"Speed?" Sheppard called as Tripudio angled over Brown's Bank, Sateda in the lead, Athos at his right flank, Tripudio at his left.
"Thirty-five knots and rising!" Lieutenant Levine yelled back.
"Hold steady!" ordered Sheppard as Tripudio leaned into a turn, the formation sweeping west-by-southwest to the open water beyond the Seal Isles. He turned his head to look behind them, to the rear guard provided by Temeraire and his crew. With his ink-black scales the color of night, Temeraire flew hidden, an absence of stars the only mark of his position to those forewarned to look. "Signal the rear!" Sheppard ordered, and watched for the answering winks of light from Temeraire's back. Only then did he turn back into the wind, with a final order for his crew. "Stay alert!"
Below them, His Majesty's ships Guerriere and Shannon each sailed full-armed with thirty-eight guns. Sheppard hoped there would be no cause for them to open fire, that the sortie would reveal no ships of the U.S. fleet bent toward St George's Bar. Yet his instinct told him that the energies of the Republicans were unpredictable; that the long blockade of trading ships sailing to U.S. ports had fallen hard upon the influential merchants of Boston; that the incursions of a resistant Shawnee leader spoke of insecurity to an immigrant people convinced that their destiny lay West. The British were an obstacle to be resisted, molded by broadsheet and pulpit into monstrous, despotic form, bastion of aid and comfort to the enemies of all whom liberty might reach.
Light flickered ahead, and Levine signaled an understanding. "Two ships of the line, aerial support," he called.
"Goddamn," McKay swore, and Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "I feel your judgment, Sheppard!" he called, tucking his compass inside his coat along with a notebook and pencil. "But I did not imagine myself armed and in battle when first I laid eyes upon you as you shoveled waste!"
Sheppard smiled behind the folds of his thick wool scarf. "Just so!" he called before raising his arm. "Make ready!" he ordered, and the metallic echo of carabiners, swords and guns brought satisfaction and a certain clarity of mind. "Tripudio," he said, laying his gloved hand on her neck. "We are in your hands. No prizes, my dear - merely drive them back."
"With pleasure," she replied, and in the next moment she spun, turning to her side and skimming past the bulk of a Chanson-de-Guerre, flicking her tail like a whip to strike the creature on its side.
"Where the hell did they get that?" McKay called. "Those pox-ridden French!"
There was no opportunity for Sheppard to reply - the Chanson circled back, and the dim report of gunfire sounded from the ships below; all was action, defensive motion turned to offense, the tight crack of harness leather and the distant rumble of Sateda's roar. "Take aim!" yelled Levine as the Chanson bore down, bullets whistling from above, curses following, hurled at King and Country with all deliberate speed. A monstrous set of claws ripped at Tripudio's rigging, severing Markham from his hold, tearing at leather, scales and flesh, the night air ringing with Markham's falling cry. Tripudio roared in dismay at her own hurt, at her crew's, and twisted, lithe with fury, soaring above the Chanson that her men might launch their bombs.
So the battle howled, pepper and musket-fire, the acrid smell of smoke, the shriek of man and beast. The Chanson bled from a slash across its belly, its rigging laid open and tangling at its feet, Sateda giving chase, a Parnassian already dispatched, clubbed insensible by the Regal Copper's claws. From Athos there was acid to burn the decks of Boston's best ships, setting the vessels to stagger through heavy water. Temeraire swooped from the fight, right leg bleeding, and beat his wings while he drew in breath to turn the Americans home.
They were tired, and deafened, and Sheppard's eyes watered from the thick-with-pepper air. There were wounded men at his back, and lost souls in the ocean below - his attention fractured, Sheppard did not hear the angry breath of the Chanson as it made one final pass, its much diminished crew opening fire before fleeing back toward Massachusetts' shores. He felt, instead, the shudder of Tripudio beneath him as a bullet found purchase in her hide; felt the tension of the harness at his right as though a weight pulled at him, beseeching his attention. Only then did he turn and see McKay with a hand splayed on Tripudio's back, and another at his shoulder, his glove black with blood.
"Home," yelled Levine as light winked again from Sateda's signalman. "The Americans retreat."
It was Tripudio who answered the call, turning beneath Orion's watchful sword and gaining height enough to fly toward home. It was not until the dissolute lights of Shelburne burned warm upon the horizon that Sheppard could find his voice, his will, or his command, and sit as captain, knowing his duty, while his crew and dragon bled their loyal gift.
*****
In the bustle of landing, there was much to distract Sheppard from the growing sickness at his core - surgeons to direct, men to assist, Tripudio to soothe. His hands might have shaken had he not inwardly chastised himself, focusing on the comfort he could offer as he smoothed reassurance over Tripudio's scales. He excused himself from the task only once, when McKay was lifted to a stretcher, allowing himself one rough squeeze of McKay's left wrist. Peculiarly, McKay smiled. "Save me your guilt," he said with exasperation. "It is a mere scratch, which will make a fetching scar. I shall be rakish ever after." He winced and coughed as the ground crew lifted him. "Although I expect French wine as I recover!"
Sheppard closed his eyes as the carriers left, and saw Sumner's broken body behind them. He had not felt then what he felt now, though McKay's wound was less grave and his person more infuriating; the thought made him tremble for the reckoning he must face within himself. He could be Captain or man, but it seemed not both, and though some vital part of him strained toward the affection he felt for McKay, he could not risk his place among the Corps for a flippant wish that could not be realized, nor put a single soul in jeopardy for want of his attention in the air. How he might further discipline his unruly imagination, his bruised heart - he knew not, and returned to Tripudio's side to press his forehead against her neck, stroking the fine scales beneath her chin.
"Are you hurt?" she asked; her concern was unmistakable.
"No," he said quickly, meeting her gaze. "No, no, please do not worry. Do your injuries trouble you greatly?"
She frowned and studied him carefully. "They are not serious," she said at last. "Hastings has already washed my cuts; the bullet is not lodged deep." She nudged at Sheppard's face. "I wish you would be honest with me."
Sheppard smiled sadly. "And I wish I were at liberty to talk of this matter as openly as I do all other things."
Tripudio nodded and nudged him again until he was forced to sit upon her leg and lean back against her body. "I think perhaps you should sit here a while," she said. "The surgeons will need time to work. We shall talk about . . . music," she decided. "Temeraire tells me that in South America there is music played on pipes. Is it so very different from the bagpipes in Scotland, do you know?"
Sheppard rested his head back against her chest and let out a long breath. "Quite different, I believe." And he told her what he could.
*****
McKay proved to be the most difficult patient with whom the garrison's surgeons had ever dealt, and it was of little surprise to Sheppard to find himself called to McKay's berth on the third day of his rehabilitation, only to discover McKay waiting for an escort to his rooms. "You see a man discharged," McKay said cheerfully. Sheppard steeled himself against his smile. "I am to rest as much as feasible for another week, limit my meals to milk-bread and honey, and refrain from yelling at those who come to check my wound." His left arm was bound to his body in a sling - Sheppard was struck, ridiculously, by the thought of pirates. "You are named my aid and right-hand man," he grinned. "Escort me to quarters, would you? The aides-de-camp are driving me to distraction and we shall all end up dead from boredom or attempts to relieve the same if you do not assist me." He stood, a mite unsteadily. "Would you believe that Hitchens has never heard of Leonhard Euler?"
"Hitchens is the son of a pig farmer," Sheppard pointed out, gathering up McKay's effects and draping a coat over his shoulders with brisk efficiency. "I doubt that he has great use for hypotheses concerning flight. Do you need assistance to walk?"
"If I might lean on your arm?" McKay said, gesturing with his good hand. "Highly inconvenient, I know, but I am somewhat weakened, much as it pains me to admit. And Hitchens is in the employ of the Aerial Corps. Hypotheses of flight form the backbone to his wage."
"He empties bedpans and has a strong stomach when aid is needed in instances of amputation," Sheppard said, offering McKay his elbow. "He is not so much as an ensign on a ground crew, much less a man with ambitions to go aloft."
McKay hooked his good arm through Sheppard's, leaning hard. "Yes, well. He has been my primary company between visitors, and it has been a great trial to me that viscosity is not a word in his vocabulary."
Sheppard snorted, breaking into a smile at last. "By God, sir, no wonder they release you to my watch."
"Anything to get a better pillow," McKay remarked.
Their progress toward the officer's quarters was somewhat ponderous, though McKay showed great joy in being outside. "Tripudio does well?" he asked, looking heavenward, where Athos and Sateda flew for no other reason than joy, and a modicum of flirtation.
Sheppard nodded. "She rests. There is muscle weakness to her flank, but it will strengthen quickly - you will be back in service at almost the same time."
"Huzzah," McKay said sarcastically. "More night battles and skirmishes with vampiric republicans lusting for my blood."
"Vampiric?" Sheppard repeated, raising one skeptical eyebrow.
"I pretend no affection toward any of them," McKay said firmly. "Except for Ben Franklin, whose loyalties it is easy to excuse, because he is dead."
"You think fondly of him flying a kite in a storm," said Sheppard. "I am not fooled."
McKay affected innocence. "A tolerably good myth," he sniffed, and turned his face back to the skies.
The cobbles of the courtyard made for uncomfortable walking, but it was the stairs that came close to proving McKay's undoing. By the time Sheppard opened the door to his quarters and helped him to sit upon his bed, McKay's face was pale and beaded with sweat. "Rather more tired than I knew," he said weakly. "I think perhaps I shall rest after all."
Sheppard eased McKay's coat from his shoulders, bent and made short work of his boots before McKay could adequately protest. It troubled him deeply that he stood able while McKay inched carefully beneath his bedcovers, that McKay did not snap or remark upon his suitability as a nurse. "Just a nap," McKay murmured, eyes already closed. Sheppard watched him for a moment, then touched his forehead and crossed the room, leaving McKay to his slumber as he shut the door.
There was correspondence in his rooms, and news to relate to his Great-Aunt lest she read of the border raids in the Times. The rhythmic scratch of his nib against paper did much to quell the tumult he held within, but it was not the solace it had proven in other times. His letter finished, sealed with wax, he stared into the courtyard, absent of certainty as to what to do. He could not fly - would not insult Tripudio in such a fashion - and did not wish to disturb his friends. The youngest of his crew were at their lessons, and the eldest at work with rigging and hide. A walk seemed weakness; bridge an embarrassment; conversation with whomever he might find in the officer's mess an act requiring manners he did not presently possess. He tapped his letter against the windowpane, wishing desperately for some ease, some means to release the frustrations and wants at his core. That there was no such remedy, that he was trapped by circumstance and the lingering effects of bodily hope, did not remove the power of his wishing.
He resolved at last upon the library, returning to Sun Tzu's Art of War and the several chapters related to dragons. It was a refuge of sorts, the familiar philosophy of another land, welcome in all its angular difference to the conventions of England and Canada. Sheppard read with abandon, musing over the utility of tactics from half a world away, and it was not until the lamps were lit around him that he realized how long he had escaped.
"I did not wish to disturb you," said Laurence from a wing chair beside the fireplace. "But I see you read Sun Tzu. Have you been to China?"
Sheppard blinked and scrubbed a hand across his face. "No," he said, gaining his bearings. "But it holds great fascination for me." He stood, tugging down his jacket, and crossed to sit at the opposite side of the fire. "I understand you spent no short amount of time in that country."
Laurence smiled. "True. A vexing trip, though I would not for anything have missed the opportunity to see a country where dragons and men walk side by side."
"It is hard to imagine," said Sheppard, setting his book upon a table. "Despite the reforms of these last years, I cannot imagine walking with Tripudio through the streets of Halifax, much less London."
"We may see it yet," Laurence offered. "Would you, when you entered the Corps, have imagined shelters for these creatures? Or companies flying under a dragon's command?"
"No." Sheppard stared into the fire. "Forgive me, Laurence. I do not mean to play hope's adversary. You merely find me weary in ways I cannot express."
There was quiet for a moment. "You worry for your crew?"
"I do." Sheppard met Laurence's even gaze. "I worry that I have not yet learned the wisdom of command, that my mistakes may . . ." He shook his head. "These skirmishes will become war."
"As much else has."
"And we have much to defend."
"And will." Laurence leaned forward, studying Sheppard's face. "Sir, come eat."
Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "Eat?" he asked.
"Indeed." Laurence stood. "Much becomes unthinkable when a belly stands empty."
Sheppard laughed, surprising himself. "First, I should . . . " He thought of McKay, of bread and milk and honey.
"You should feed yourself, then look to others. Visit your dragon. Speak to your friends," Laurence counseled. "Speak to my dragon, if you wish it. Temeraire is accomplished in the art of conversation, and regularly operates upon my temper with a surgeon's precision." He smiled again. "Will you dine?"
Sheppard's stomach growled loudly and he startled at the sound. "I think perhaps the decision has been made," he said with some amusement, and stood, covering his stomach with a careful hand.
*****
So passed two days and nights of tolerable comfort. Sheppard dined, and read, and studied the dispatches gathered by the scouts; debated with Caldwell the wisdom of dragons deployed; visited his men; spent hours at Tripudio's side. What time he could manage without descent into guilt he spent with McKay, playing cards before the fire, debating science into hours become dark. He left whenever his longing grew noisy, when McKay grew tired, when the fire grew low. But a third night came with dreams of a scar upon McKay's shoulder, and his own lips pressed there, a benediction sworn to precious, injured flesh. He woke with a start, sweating and aroused, and groaned aloud to imagine this his future - he could not readily believe that these feelings might fade. Sleep was impossible - he threw back his sheets and fumbled for his clothes. Shirt and breeches, boots and coat; he dressed with haste and no thought for appearance, caring only that he manage to shut out the cold.
In contrast to the courtyard, the dragon shelters were pleasantly warm, and Sheppard shivered as he stepped inside. Athos and Sateda slept together, curled as though a mended whole; Tripudio dreamed and murmured happily, a foreleg twitching, her imagination climbing to some unspeakable height. Decus snored, a bass rumble that spoke to his gathered years, and beneath the soaring beams of the shelter, all were safe, all warm, all well-kept.
Temeraire yet sat awake, painting unfamiliar characters on paper with ink that had adhered to one claw. "Oh, hello," he said, pleasure in his voice as Sheppard reached his pen. "You are up very late."
"Or early," said Sheppard. "I hardly know which."
Temeraire tilted his head and watched him thoughtfully. "Do you read Chinese?" he asked, and nodded toward his work.
"No," said Sheppard, crouching to look at the neat rows of characters with greater attention. "What do you write?"
"Letters," Temeraire said, exceedingly pleased. "My mother is Chinese, and I have a particular friend at court. They like to hear of my adventures, since it is so rare that I can see them face to face."
Sheppard smiled just a little. "Correspondence soothes me," he said, standing, finding ease of conversation within him as he once had with Tripudio's egg. "The sounds, the smells. Ink, and paper."
"I quite understand," Temeraire replied. "At first I wrote in sand, as many Chinese dragons do. But this is much better now that I have learned how to gentle my claw." He waved his foot before setting it down. "Would you like to sit?" he asked. "Or do you have business elsewhere?"
"My business pursues me," Sheppard said, and sat on an upturned vegetable crate that was likely Laurence's sometimes seat. "I welcome your company, if I do not disturb."
Temeraire shifted, sitting also, wrapping his tail around his body and holding his head very high. "You seem sad," he observed.
"It is nothing."
"Yet you are awake."
"It is . . . something," Sheppard conceded awkwardly. "But I cannot articulate its reach."
"Do you worry still for Dr. McKay?" Temeraire asked. "Tripudio worries for you both - she says you do not seem well when apart."
Sheppard colored deeply, and scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "Oh."
"Is she wrong?"
Sheppard hardly knew how to answer. "I . . . value McKay as my most particular friend, but . . ."
"Perhaps you should share quarters," Temeraire said.
Sheppard almost fell off his stool. "I beg your pardon?" he managed. "I fear I misheard . . ."
"Athos and Sateda are happiest when they sleep as you see them now," Temeraire observed. "And Laurence is always happy after spending his midnight with Admiral Roland." He lowered his head. "I call her Jane."
Sheppard cleared his throat and grasped desperately for words. "We do not - that is . . . McKay and I are not . . ."
"You are not?" Temeraire asked, tilting his head. "Are you quite sure?"
"Gentlemen do not share beds in quite the manner Athos and Sateda, or your Captain and his partner might," said Sheppard.
"Why not?" asked Temeraire. "That is a very stupid rule."
Sheppard stared at a stray tuft of hay upon the floor for want of anything to fill his mind. "It is - the way in which we . . . Society does not . . ."
"Society," said Temeraire scornfully. "Society did not give dragons rights until we complained. In Edinburgh, dragons often slept in the streets, with refuse and rain and most irritating rats. Society did not pay us, or reward us, or let us fly without a harness because that is how it had always been done. It did not make it right."
Sheppard felt quite dizzy. "There are penalties," he said slowly. "Penalties for . . . " He met Temeraire's gaze. "Were no sailors caught in carnal acts upon your voyages around the world?"
"None that I recall," Temeraire said. "Would I have noticed?"
"Oh, yes," Sheppard said softly. "When they were hanged."
Temeraire blew forcefully through his nose. "For liking other men as Sateda likes Athos and Laurence likes Jane?"
"Yes," Sheppard said. "For exactly that. Were I to . . . were we to . . . And this is all beside the point since Dr. McKay is not - does not feel as . . ."
"I am sure you are wrong," Temeraire said. "I would wager a very small trinket on the matter. Small, but pretty and particularly shiny, you understand."
"It is a wager you need not make," Sheppard said, with a small smile. "It is all impossible."
"And thus you are sad," Temeraire observed, "when you might be happy and spend your midnight with Dr. McKay, and sleep as Athos and Sateda do. Society has much for which to answer."
"Without doubt," Sheppard replied. "But that is as it is."
"Perhaps not," came a voice.
Sheppard stood up with a start, the wooden crate that had been his stool falling behind. At the entrance to Temeraire's pen stood McKay, leaning on a walking stick, bundled against the night.
"Good evening, John."
Sheppard took a step back, but Temeraire's bulk blocked further movement. "You overheard."
"I did."
Sheppard sighed very softly and closed his eyes. "Do not say more, I beg of you. I will . . . remove myself from your company and . . ."
"You are only as intelligent as Hitchens on occasion," McKay said blithely. "Remove yourself from my company? Are you quite mad?"
"You know my feelings," Sheppard said in a rush, spine straight, face turned away. "I cannot ask you to continue our friendship when you understand my particular problem, nor ask you to condone my sin when . . ."
"Oh, do be quiet," McKay said briskly. "I have walked a great distance, considering my condition, and I am in no mood to tolerate a swoon. Your sin? What incomprehensible nonsense is that?"
"I do not believe he yet understands you reciprocate his feelings," Temeraire said, then coughed very delicately, and looked up at the ceiling.
Sheppard slowly raised his head. "I . . . " He swallowed to clear his throat. "Your pardon, Temeraire, but . . ."
"Damnable dragon," McKay grumbled. "Far too intelligent for your own good. But in this instance I suppose it is well you are here to speak sense to this man's stupidity. Yes," he said to Sheppard. "I do. Reciprocate." He ambled slowly across the pen. "Are you deaf, dumb, and blind?"
Sheppard blinked, agog. "I believe it possible," he said, quite stunned.
"Not dumb, apparently," said McKay, close enough now that Sheppard could clearly see each wrinkle nestled at the corners of his eyes, the creases worn by laughter that ran from his nose to his mouth.
"There is no one else awake," Temeraire said airily. "And I will keep watch if you would like to . . ." He coughed again.
Sheppard's heart stuttered, then clattered noisily in his chest. "If we would like to?" he repeated.
McKay stepped so close that Sheppard could feel the faint heat of his body, see the brilliant color of his eyes. "If we would like to," he whispered, and his gaze flickered to Sheppard's lips.
"Well," said Sheppard, and without forethought or understanding leaned in, eyes closing, and his mouth met McKay's in a kiss.
For a mere brush of lips it was more than Sheppard had imagined, the spark to some incandescent hope taking up lodging where nothing but heartache had lived. His hands moved to clasp McKay's elbows - and McKay winced and pulled away, mumbling, "shoulder?" before he leaned in to kiss him again.
When they parted some moments later, breathless, mouths wet and tongues alight, Temeraire hummed his satisfaction. "With dragons it is different," he said. "We do not show our affection with the touching of snouts. But I do think it seems a quite pleasant way to pass the time."
Sheppard glanced at Temeraire, then back at Rodney's wide-open face. "Might I touch your snout again?" he asked, and McKay began to laugh even as he agreed.
*****
Theirs was not an easy courtship. For all that they enjoyed a perfect understanding of each other, they could not reveal themselves to their friends, nor steal the moments vouchsafe to most embarked upon a journey of such discovery. Circumstances large and small stood arrayed against them - custom, law, religion, and family; the ominous storm clouds of impending war. Halifax harbour became crowded with His Majesty's ships; new works were undertaken; four thirty-six pound cannon found home at Cape Blomidon; six more were installed at York Redoubt. The diplomatic corps threw balls for the military, and the military threw grave doubt upon the abilities of the diplomatic corps to do more than entertain. Above it all flew the dragons; amid this was affection left to grow.
Yet a conspiracy of dragons grew around Sheppard and McKay - dragons who knew the behavior of each human at the covert; dragons who knew the island's thickets, caves and spurs; dragons who, with Tripudio first among equals, considered themselves duty-bound to act as lookout and keep ceaseless watch. Thus were quiet words exchanged and kisses pressed to gladdened mouths, fingers twined and promises kept. There could be, as yet, no complete fulfillment, but bewitched by chance, Sheppard felt equal to the wait, and McKay enquired of all who might know what opportunity there was of redeployment within the Corps. "The Pacific is littered with empty beaches," he confessed, and Sheppard did not know whether he should laugh or burn up from the sly want curled at the base of his spine.
His dreams had not grown less capable of making him sweat, but the situation seemed well in hand.
By May, war was certain, though formal declarations had yet to be made, and the hours Sheppard stole at Chebucto Head came fewer and further between. But the tenth of that month dawned warm and calm, and when Tripudio landed on the Head's fresh, green plains, it was with deepening pleasure that Sheppard watched McKay struggle to release his carabiner and slide to the ground with a modicum of grace.
They ate pasties as they had before, shared wine that McKay found only passable. Tripudio took to the air when her lunch was done, but though she swept and turned, corkscrewed and dove, Sheppard knew her ambition - she was keeping watch.
"Were it not for the damnable inconvenience of this limitless waiting, I would send my paper back to the Society with befitting haste. But it would be my luck," McKay said, gesturing emphatically at the wind-whipped ocean, "to dispatch my findings and have the carrier captured by Americans because of war."
Sheppard frowned, nodding thoughtfully. "You believe you would tempting fate?"
"I do. I do," said McKay.
"In different words, then - you believe you could cause war by attempting to share the fruits of your intellect?" Sheppard turned his head to study McKay's face.
McKay grimaced, blinked, and wrinkled his nose. "I . . . what? Sheppard, by God, I believe you to be . . . " He paused, and pointed toward himself. "Why do you stare? Have I gravy upon my chin?"
Sheppard smiled, and felt humbled by the freedom to do so - lifted his hand to cup McKay's jaw and dragged a thumb over his lips. "No," he whispered, and leaned in to press his mouth to McKay's.
Above them Tripudio spun and soared. With dragons in the world, much was well that had been ill.
Author: sheafrotherdon
Recipient: tropes
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Summary: September 1811, Halifax, Nova Scotia: His Majesty's Aerial Corps stand ready to welcome new additions to their number; an expedition late of the Antipodes. SGA/Temeraire crossover. Spoilers for the Temeraire novels, 1-5 (beware ye dragons!)
Author's notes: thank you to my cheer team for all their narrative suggestions and geographic knowledge, and to my wonderful beta for her indispensable work!
Part 1 of 2
***
". . . they found Bates, however, alive, not far from where Sumner had fallen, and quite well save for bruising and the conviction that he was to have been abandoned. Their . . . " McKay circled a finger to suggest the convoluted spinning of a battle in-flight. "They had passed over the same portion of country, again and again. Everett recovered; there were proper burial rites for Sumner. No one else was hurt and the intelligence gathered by the journey proved useful to our defense after Austerlitz, I believe."
John let out a breath and pulled steadily from his wine glass.
"It was foolhardy," said Dex, but his tone of voice was warm. He would, John knew, have done the same for one of his men, despite the risks and terrible consequences courted by such behavior. The stiffness in his shoulders relented by some small amount.
"It was also well done," Emmagan said gently. "We are of a mind." She offered Laurence a smile. "And so we sit here together, and fly beyond these walls as one. We are not the companions that many of our colleagues seek, whether because our skin speaks to a guilt many gentlemen's sons would like to forget, or because our ethics are . . ." She tilted her head. "We are troublemakers, perhaps."
Laurence turned his wineglass between his fingers, studying the wine within before lifting the cup and draining the larger part of it. "A captain and his dragon are commodities not to be squandered in time of war," he said quietly.
Sheppard saw Dex stiffen.
"And yet - and yet, friend," he said, holding up his hand in Dex's direction, "I strongly believe in the power of a man's conscience to act as check and balance upon the strictures of command." He held up his glass toward Sheppard. "I would be honored to fly with you at any time," he said, tipping his glass in deference before he drank.
"You have yet to hear the most astonishing portion," McKay offered, his cheeks ruddy from the vigor of his storytelling and possibly the quality of his wine.
"Rodney," Sheppard said, shifting uncomfortably on his chair.
"No, no. You were wrongly condemned, you know this is my belief, and that your exile should reap such a reward is all that restores my faith in . . ." He frowned. "I do not believe in God, so - I forget in what my faith resides." He stared into space. "Tricky."
"Perhaps you might finish your own tale," Emmagan suggested to Sheppard, refilling the glasses of all.
Sheppard clenched his jaw to keep his words tightly bound for a moment. "I was . . ." He pulled in a breath and smiled awkwardly at the tabletop. "A tribunal decided my - " Another pause. "I was sent to the breeding grounds in Newfoundland, to do what work they would bid me," he said at last, summoning determination. "I was, at least, among dragons."
"And there hatched Tripudio this April past," Emmagan said, deflecting from his discomfort with the ease of her own words. "A hatchling who would not be harnessed by the man selected for the task, but who chose the groundskeeper who had spent long nights in halting conversation with her egg."
"You?" Laurence asked Sheppard.
Sheppard nodded. "There was fury and wailing and the gnashing of teeth." He could not help but smile at the memory. "But she is half Native to this continent and none could predict the consequence of forcing her to chains."
"Which is how, against all their better judgment, they made him a captain again," McKay finished cheerfully. "And here he is. And here we are. Very satisfying all around. Of course I knew he was wasted as a groundskeeper upon first meeting him - few men born to the rank of shelter warden can calculate velocity in their heads. But then I am exceptionally intelligent, which is why I insisted he aid me in my scientific endeavors when first I visited the breeding grounds these two years past. And once he became captain, it stood to reason that I should accompany him as a member of his crew, albeit under extraordinary circumstances, because . . . " He broke off as a serving boy came into the room. "Oh, my. Is that treacle pudding?"
There was a moment of silence, and then laughter enough to heal a fracture or two of the many that lingered at Sheppard's core.
*****
It was unsurprising to Sheppard that Emmagan and Dex should volunteer to escort Laurence to the dragon shelters after they dined. Notwithstanding Emmagan's protestations that it was only for reason of monitoring Athos' continued health that she had business there, both she and Dex were transparently eager to see an Celestial for themselves. What did surprise him was that McKay did not join them, nor express a wish to follow in his own time. Instead he walked with Sheppard toward their rooms, demonstrating a talent for inconsequential conversation far beyond anything Sheppard had previously known.
It was not until they reached Sheppard's door that McKay first seemed discomfited. "I hope you do not feel anger toward me," he blurted, seemingly in earnest.
Sheppard blinked, his mind utterly blank. "Do I have cause?" he asked, baffled.
"Dinner," McKay said, waving a hand. "I know it cannot be easy to listen to that particular tale, and . . ."
Sheppard silenced him with a shake of his head. "It is nothing."
"No. No, I beg to differ," McKay replied, and his expression was laid so utterly bare that Sheppard felt himself quite unequal to meeting his gaze. Gone was the bluster and cheerful mockery of their table - here, McKay was sincere. "I know I placed you under the most awkward circumstance by plunging into that chapter of your life. But I also knew that Laurence's opinion would carry weight with you, and I trusted that he would see the matter as we have done."
Sheppard frowned, confused and strangely unsettled. "You gambled that he would . . ."
"It was no gamble," McKay said, spine straight, his breath a fraction unsteady. "None who are of character still hold that occasion against you, John. None but you."
Sheppard ducked his head that he might think.
"I hoped that his knowing and his approbation might soothe the sting that yet troubles you." McKay sighed. "If I did wrong, it was well meant."
"Rodney." Sheppard shook his head again and looked upon his friend. "I . . . find it disquieting to be so well known by someone other than myself. That is all."
McKay's countenance stayed blank for a moment, and the evening, it seemed to Sheppard, trembled on a precipice. But then he smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet in the manner of one much younger than himself. "You should not have befriended a genius, then," he said wickedly.
Sheppard laughed, conflicted but relieved, and set his hand upon his door. "I take my leave of you, sir," he smiled.
"And I you." McKay nodded sharply, his face still reflecting light. "Sleep well. I hear tell that our mission tomorrow is routine, which as you well know . . ."
Sheppard groaned. "Means only mischief."
"Exactly," McKay said, pointing one finger. "Store up what rest you may." And he turned on his heel, whistling off-key as he strode toward his own rooms at the far end of the hall.
Sheppard could not help but watch him go.
*****
Routine settled swiftly upon the garrison, the new dragons and their crews absorbed into the steady patrol of the seas and skies. With increased numbers came increased strength; the share of American vessels brought to port, their men impressed, their cargoes confiscated, rose through fall, and there was prize a-plenty for each formation to share. A heady jubilation took hold of the covert, men and dragons both buoyed by ease of action and portioned wealth. It sat ill with Sheppard, who could not find it in himself to trust that such days of ease would last, nor that their actions would go unanswered by the Republic. Where Kavanagh and Niam argued for periods of great rest between fights, Sheppard drove his crew to longer practice, more particular attention to each link and buckle of Tripudio's rigging, and greater attention to defensive maneuvers he hoped he might never have cause to employ. In such labor he found solace for the tactical bent of his mind, yet also for the sentiment of his body, gripped by an affection that troubled him to his core. His dreams disturbed him, rousing him to wakefulness of late, sticky and spent, shivering with the consequence of thoughts he should not allow. But he could not avoid the subject of his mind's nocturnal bent, so resolved instead to seek McKay's company, to attempt, by application of his considerable will, to master the press of his feelings. By inches he felt his efforts take root, found it easier to fall into ready banter and quell the pitch of his stomach, the reach of his nights' heady web. Without a doubt McKay could not be more than his firm and fast friend; would not consider more, even if God and country did not dictate the proper course of action in such matters. In that knowledge Sheppard took refuge, and shut away the part of himself that wished for more.
"These early hours are quite intolerable," McKay offered one morning over breakfast. He clumsily filled his coffee cup, having drunk one full portion before attempting speech, and drank again. "Do you hate me, Sheppard? Did I sin in a previous life?"
"I believe the concept of sin and previous lives do not necessarily occupy the same theological ground," Emmagan said blithely. She helped herself to a greater share of bacon.
McKay tipped back his cup and filled it again. "You are scarcely to be borne at such an hour," he said plaintively, dragging a dish of eggs closer to his plate. "Dex. Sheppard. Laurence." There was a general murmur of greeting amid the more serious business of stomachs being filled. "And still, I beg an answer - why do you drag my body from bed while the sun is still at slumber?"
It was greatly to Sheppard's credit that his mind did not slip to dangerous places at such a question. "I wish to test the new maneuvers Banks suggests," he said simply.
"So that we may what? Avoid the calamity of a mid-air collision with - oh, that's correct, there is no such danger, since the dragons located in Boston have not ventured north in months."
"We shall be prepared," Sheppard said calmly. "More coffee, perhaps?"
McKay grunted at him, and gestured with a fork.
"I believe Dr. McKay has been kept from repose by our dragons," Laurence put in, a half-smile visible behind his coffee cup.
"Oh?" Sheppard asked.
"Last night it was a debate on the principles of gravity, I hear." Laurence wiped his mouth upon a napkin. "Temeraire would like to know what gravity is, rather than rely only upon the observation of its effects. Dr. McKay was voluble in his dismissal of the idea that such knowledge is necessary as an immediate prerequisite for the advancement of further scientific study. And Tripudio wished to know at what height she must fly to best escape the effects of gravity, yet still breathe her fill."
McKay shifted in his chair. "I could not simply leave the conversation at such a point," he said churlishly.
"Did you sleep at all?" asked Dex.
"Some?" McKay answered. "And once we are done with a morning of freezing our extremities into attitudes of rigor aboard the back of a dragon who wishes to go into space, well - then I shall take to my room and study the inside of my eyelids until called for dinner, and none shall say a word."
"Quite so," Emmagan nodded.
"We shall guard your silence with our honor," Sheppard added.
"Oh, do quiet yourselves," McKay grumbled, and cut into a sausage with relish.
The morning's practice was, as McKay had predicted, devilishly cold, November having pushed into the province with a fearsome bite. Though he would be struck down as an American before admitting such, Sheppard conceded to himself that it might be of benefit to the health of his entire crew to forgo first-light practices in favor of midday runs for at least a portion of the coming months. He resolved to discuss such with Campbell and Tripudio as soon as a toddy had thawed him from the inside out.
"Sheppard?" Tripudio called. "A commotion below, do you see it?"
His attention called back from anticipation of a warm fire and hot meal, Sheppard did - a bustling in the main courtyard; a readying of two companies of dragons at once; a Pascal's Blue tearing into animal flesh by the far pasture, ravenous as though from a long and grueling flight. "Defensive positions!" Sheppard called, not knowing the precise cause of what stirred the garrison, and he was gratified to feel the shift of men, the readying of arms, the call of, "Watch - clear!" from west, east, and south.
"The Americans?" McKay shouted, pistol cocked.
"I cannot guess," Sheppard replied, and had Tripudio circle before landing on bare earth at the covert's furthest reach, out beyond the business of armored dragons and readying men.
"Captain Sheppard!" called Jinto, running out from the inner sanctum of the garrison, flushed with exertion and the wind that swept in from the sea. "Indian attack - Harrison's men in Indiana. The Americans are to arms."
Sheppard made brisk work of his carabiners and slid neatly to ground. "Plainfolk, or the army?"
"Hard to tell - Is all confusion, says the courier," Jinto panted. "Been here but half an hour - militias raised in the border country, and p'haps more if the big men agree to it. It will take them time to march."
"Unless they are carried by dragons," McKay said, still sitting at Tripudio's shoulder, his mouth twisting.
Sheppard shook his head. "They have swift, light, battle-ready creatures at Boston," he said. "Not carriers of men."
"I am battle-ready," put in Tripudio, "and could carry more than my crew if I were called upon to do so."
Sheppard nodded. "Indeed. But we need not fear the wooden carriers of Napoleon's army. And it will take time to outfit any dragon with the means to carry soldiers into this frozen north." He looked past Jinto as Campbell and the rest of the ground crew began to arrive. "Should we stay in harness?" he called.
"No, sir," Campbell said, drawing closer. "Two companies aloft soon enough - we're under orders to rest and be ready for evening maneuvers." He offered Sheppard a significant look. "We'll know more by then. Know something worth knowing, I expect, as opposed to this."
Sheppard nodded. "Very good." He turned back to Tripudio. "You will rest and warm yourself?"
She nudged his arm with her nose. "And eat. I will be ready." She shivered, the movement of her scales causing McKay to yelp and hurry his carabiner loose. "It has been some time since we saw a real fight."
"And I would have us not see battle yet under these circumstances," Sheppard said, stroking her flank, a hand at the ready to steady McKay as he plummeted gracelessly to earth. "McKay, if you'd join me - I would like to know more about these circumstances, and your interest in the interior nations would . . ."
"They were probably provoked," McKay said waspishly. "I would certainly see fit to shoot whatever was at hand at an American who blundered into my territory."
"And have we done better as the King's men?" Sheppard asked.
"Absolutely not. We are equally convinced of our own superiority and therefore just as grievously stupid on this score," McKay said, striding past him. "Come, come. Let us hear first-, second-, or possibly third-hand what disaster has been now been wrought."
"Campbell," Sheppard said, nodding as he made to follow.
"Captain," said Campbell, and Sheppard swore the man was amused.
*****
"We have intercepted communiqués from Fort Harrison and Fort Wayne," said Caldwell, tracing the path of the British scouts across a map. "With each successive transfer of information, we have witnessed an increase in hyperbole - the dispatches sent to Washington and other locales to the east assert Tecumseh was aided by British forces."
"As if he needed our help," McKay said witheringly.
"We have proved friend to his people before," Emmagan countered gently. "And have encouraged him in forestalling American expansion. It will not prove so hard for Madison's generals to presume to see our hand."
"Or to use this as excuse," Dex offered. "Truth or not."
"My concern exactly," Caldwell said. He straightened and looked toward Sheppard, to Kavanagh, Niam, Laurence, Lorne and their seconds. "I anticipate our border patrols will return with news of militia movement. I pray that the seas might prove too rough for vessels to be directed north, but cannot count upon that fact."
"And they will surely send dragons," Laurence put in. "Across land. There are farms enough across the north to supply their needs. If they believe this a concerted effort, the first shot in a larger war . . ."
"We must hold the borders," Caldwell said. "If ships enter Her Majesty's waters, we must repel them. We will not give them cause to see this as opportunity. They must be convinced to hold."
"How many died?" asked McKay. His tone of voice suggested the information was of little consequence to him, but his expression said otherwise to those who watched slant of his mouth. Sheppard eyed him cautiously, anticipating sharp words and an assault upon the chain of command.
"At Prophetstown?" Caldwell asked.
McKay nodded.
"Some five dozen Americans - considerably fewer of Tecumseh's men."
"A waste," McKay said to the tabletop he now studied. He looked up when silence met his remarks. "I am ready, gentlemen; I stand ready, ma'am."
Caldwell eyed him for a further moment, then nodded. "Make preparations," he ordered. "You fly at first dark."
*****
A waning moon shone overhead as they took to the air that night, still six days from the lunar darkness that would have rendered them blind, save for stars. The night was crisp and cold, each man and woman aloft wrapped in layers of silk and wool and leather, scarves about their face and aviator's caps pulled low. For once McKay had not forgotten his gloves - Sheppard could hear his low curses as he fumbled with his compass, fingers made clumsy by leather and cold; someone was, apparently, "the son of a festering marsupial's behind."
"Speed?" Sheppard called as Tripudio angled over Brown's Bank, Sateda in the lead, Athos at his right flank, Tripudio at his left.
"Thirty-five knots and rising!" Lieutenant Levine yelled back.
"Hold steady!" ordered Sheppard as Tripudio leaned into a turn, the formation sweeping west-by-southwest to the open water beyond the Seal Isles. He turned his head to look behind them, to the rear guard provided by Temeraire and his crew. With his ink-black scales the color of night, Temeraire flew hidden, an absence of stars the only mark of his position to those forewarned to look. "Signal the rear!" Sheppard ordered, and watched for the answering winks of light from Temeraire's back. Only then did he turn back into the wind, with a final order for his crew. "Stay alert!"
Below them, His Majesty's ships Guerriere and Shannon each sailed full-armed with thirty-eight guns. Sheppard hoped there would be no cause for them to open fire, that the sortie would reveal no ships of the U.S. fleet bent toward St George's Bar. Yet his instinct told him that the energies of the Republicans were unpredictable; that the long blockade of trading ships sailing to U.S. ports had fallen hard upon the influential merchants of Boston; that the incursions of a resistant Shawnee leader spoke of insecurity to an immigrant people convinced that their destiny lay West. The British were an obstacle to be resisted, molded by broadsheet and pulpit into monstrous, despotic form, bastion of aid and comfort to the enemies of all whom liberty might reach.
Light flickered ahead, and Levine signaled an understanding. "Two ships of the line, aerial support," he called.
"Goddamn," McKay swore, and Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "I feel your judgment, Sheppard!" he called, tucking his compass inside his coat along with a notebook and pencil. "But I did not imagine myself armed and in battle when first I laid eyes upon you as you shoveled waste!"
Sheppard smiled behind the folds of his thick wool scarf. "Just so!" he called before raising his arm. "Make ready!" he ordered, and the metallic echo of carabiners, swords and guns brought satisfaction and a certain clarity of mind. "Tripudio," he said, laying his gloved hand on her neck. "We are in your hands. No prizes, my dear - merely drive them back."
"With pleasure," she replied, and in the next moment she spun, turning to her side and skimming past the bulk of a Chanson-de-Guerre, flicking her tail like a whip to strike the creature on its side.
"Where the hell did they get that?" McKay called. "Those pox-ridden French!"
There was no opportunity for Sheppard to reply - the Chanson circled back, and the dim report of gunfire sounded from the ships below; all was action, defensive motion turned to offense, the tight crack of harness leather and the distant rumble of Sateda's roar. "Take aim!" yelled Levine as the Chanson bore down, bullets whistling from above, curses following, hurled at King and Country with all deliberate speed. A monstrous set of claws ripped at Tripudio's rigging, severing Markham from his hold, tearing at leather, scales and flesh, the night air ringing with Markham's falling cry. Tripudio roared in dismay at her own hurt, at her crew's, and twisted, lithe with fury, soaring above the Chanson that her men might launch their bombs.
So the battle howled, pepper and musket-fire, the acrid smell of smoke, the shriek of man and beast. The Chanson bled from a slash across its belly, its rigging laid open and tangling at its feet, Sateda giving chase, a Parnassian already dispatched, clubbed insensible by the Regal Copper's claws. From Athos there was acid to burn the decks of Boston's best ships, setting the vessels to stagger through heavy water. Temeraire swooped from the fight, right leg bleeding, and beat his wings while he drew in breath to turn the Americans home.
They were tired, and deafened, and Sheppard's eyes watered from the thick-with-pepper air. There were wounded men at his back, and lost souls in the ocean below - his attention fractured, Sheppard did not hear the angry breath of the Chanson as it made one final pass, its much diminished crew opening fire before fleeing back toward Massachusetts' shores. He felt, instead, the shudder of Tripudio beneath him as a bullet found purchase in her hide; felt the tension of the harness at his right as though a weight pulled at him, beseeching his attention. Only then did he turn and see McKay with a hand splayed on Tripudio's back, and another at his shoulder, his glove black with blood.
"Home," yelled Levine as light winked again from Sateda's signalman. "The Americans retreat."
It was Tripudio who answered the call, turning beneath Orion's watchful sword and gaining height enough to fly toward home. It was not until the dissolute lights of Shelburne burned warm upon the horizon that Sheppard could find his voice, his will, or his command, and sit as captain, knowing his duty, while his crew and dragon bled their loyal gift.
*****
In the bustle of landing, there was much to distract Sheppard from the growing sickness at his core - surgeons to direct, men to assist, Tripudio to soothe. His hands might have shaken had he not inwardly chastised himself, focusing on the comfort he could offer as he smoothed reassurance over Tripudio's scales. He excused himself from the task only once, when McKay was lifted to a stretcher, allowing himself one rough squeeze of McKay's left wrist. Peculiarly, McKay smiled. "Save me your guilt," he said with exasperation. "It is a mere scratch, which will make a fetching scar. I shall be rakish ever after." He winced and coughed as the ground crew lifted him. "Although I expect French wine as I recover!"
Sheppard closed his eyes as the carriers left, and saw Sumner's broken body behind them. He had not felt then what he felt now, though McKay's wound was less grave and his person more infuriating; the thought made him tremble for the reckoning he must face within himself. He could be Captain or man, but it seemed not both, and though some vital part of him strained toward the affection he felt for McKay, he could not risk his place among the Corps for a flippant wish that could not be realized, nor put a single soul in jeopardy for want of his attention in the air. How he might further discipline his unruly imagination, his bruised heart - he knew not, and returned to Tripudio's side to press his forehead against her neck, stroking the fine scales beneath her chin.
"Are you hurt?" she asked; her concern was unmistakable.
"No," he said quickly, meeting her gaze. "No, no, please do not worry. Do your injuries trouble you greatly?"
She frowned and studied him carefully. "They are not serious," she said at last. "Hastings has already washed my cuts; the bullet is not lodged deep." She nudged at Sheppard's face. "I wish you would be honest with me."
Sheppard smiled sadly. "And I wish I were at liberty to talk of this matter as openly as I do all other things."
Tripudio nodded and nudged him again until he was forced to sit upon her leg and lean back against her body. "I think perhaps you should sit here a while," she said. "The surgeons will need time to work. We shall talk about . . . music," she decided. "Temeraire tells me that in South America there is music played on pipes. Is it so very different from the bagpipes in Scotland, do you know?"
Sheppard rested his head back against her chest and let out a long breath. "Quite different, I believe." And he told her what he could.
*****
McKay proved to be the most difficult patient with whom the garrison's surgeons had ever dealt, and it was of little surprise to Sheppard to find himself called to McKay's berth on the third day of his rehabilitation, only to discover McKay waiting for an escort to his rooms. "You see a man discharged," McKay said cheerfully. Sheppard steeled himself against his smile. "I am to rest as much as feasible for another week, limit my meals to milk-bread and honey, and refrain from yelling at those who come to check my wound." His left arm was bound to his body in a sling - Sheppard was struck, ridiculously, by the thought of pirates. "You are named my aid and right-hand man," he grinned. "Escort me to quarters, would you? The aides-de-camp are driving me to distraction and we shall all end up dead from boredom or attempts to relieve the same if you do not assist me." He stood, a mite unsteadily. "Would you believe that Hitchens has never heard of Leonhard Euler?"
"Hitchens is the son of a pig farmer," Sheppard pointed out, gathering up McKay's effects and draping a coat over his shoulders with brisk efficiency. "I doubt that he has great use for hypotheses concerning flight. Do you need assistance to walk?"
"If I might lean on your arm?" McKay said, gesturing with his good hand. "Highly inconvenient, I know, but I am somewhat weakened, much as it pains me to admit. And Hitchens is in the employ of the Aerial Corps. Hypotheses of flight form the backbone to his wage."
"He empties bedpans and has a strong stomach when aid is needed in instances of amputation," Sheppard said, offering McKay his elbow. "He is not so much as an ensign on a ground crew, much less a man with ambitions to go aloft."
McKay hooked his good arm through Sheppard's, leaning hard. "Yes, well. He has been my primary company between visitors, and it has been a great trial to me that viscosity is not a word in his vocabulary."
Sheppard snorted, breaking into a smile at last. "By God, sir, no wonder they release you to my watch."
"Anything to get a better pillow," McKay remarked.
Their progress toward the officer's quarters was somewhat ponderous, though McKay showed great joy in being outside. "Tripudio does well?" he asked, looking heavenward, where Athos and Sateda flew for no other reason than joy, and a modicum of flirtation.
Sheppard nodded. "She rests. There is muscle weakness to her flank, but it will strengthen quickly - you will be back in service at almost the same time."
"Huzzah," McKay said sarcastically. "More night battles and skirmishes with vampiric republicans lusting for my blood."
"Vampiric?" Sheppard repeated, raising one skeptical eyebrow.
"I pretend no affection toward any of them," McKay said firmly. "Except for Ben Franklin, whose loyalties it is easy to excuse, because he is dead."
"You think fondly of him flying a kite in a storm," said Sheppard. "I am not fooled."
McKay affected innocence. "A tolerably good myth," he sniffed, and turned his face back to the skies.
The cobbles of the courtyard made for uncomfortable walking, but it was the stairs that came close to proving McKay's undoing. By the time Sheppard opened the door to his quarters and helped him to sit upon his bed, McKay's face was pale and beaded with sweat. "Rather more tired than I knew," he said weakly. "I think perhaps I shall rest after all."
Sheppard eased McKay's coat from his shoulders, bent and made short work of his boots before McKay could adequately protest. It troubled him deeply that he stood able while McKay inched carefully beneath his bedcovers, that McKay did not snap or remark upon his suitability as a nurse. "Just a nap," McKay murmured, eyes already closed. Sheppard watched him for a moment, then touched his forehead and crossed the room, leaving McKay to his slumber as he shut the door.
There was correspondence in his rooms, and news to relate to his Great-Aunt lest she read of the border raids in the Times. The rhythmic scratch of his nib against paper did much to quell the tumult he held within, but it was not the solace it had proven in other times. His letter finished, sealed with wax, he stared into the courtyard, absent of certainty as to what to do. He could not fly - would not insult Tripudio in such a fashion - and did not wish to disturb his friends. The youngest of his crew were at their lessons, and the eldest at work with rigging and hide. A walk seemed weakness; bridge an embarrassment; conversation with whomever he might find in the officer's mess an act requiring manners he did not presently possess. He tapped his letter against the windowpane, wishing desperately for some ease, some means to release the frustrations and wants at his core. That there was no such remedy, that he was trapped by circumstance and the lingering effects of bodily hope, did not remove the power of his wishing.
He resolved at last upon the library, returning to Sun Tzu's Art of War and the several chapters related to dragons. It was a refuge of sorts, the familiar philosophy of another land, welcome in all its angular difference to the conventions of England and Canada. Sheppard read with abandon, musing over the utility of tactics from half a world away, and it was not until the lamps were lit around him that he realized how long he had escaped.
"I did not wish to disturb you," said Laurence from a wing chair beside the fireplace. "But I see you read Sun Tzu. Have you been to China?"
Sheppard blinked and scrubbed a hand across his face. "No," he said, gaining his bearings. "But it holds great fascination for me." He stood, tugging down his jacket, and crossed to sit at the opposite side of the fire. "I understand you spent no short amount of time in that country."
Laurence smiled. "True. A vexing trip, though I would not for anything have missed the opportunity to see a country where dragons and men walk side by side."
"It is hard to imagine," said Sheppard, setting his book upon a table. "Despite the reforms of these last years, I cannot imagine walking with Tripudio through the streets of Halifax, much less London."
"We may see it yet," Laurence offered. "Would you, when you entered the Corps, have imagined shelters for these creatures? Or companies flying under a dragon's command?"
"No." Sheppard stared into the fire. "Forgive me, Laurence. I do not mean to play hope's adversary. You merely find me weary in ways I cannot express."
There was quiet for a moment. "You worry for your crew?"
"I do." Sheppard met Laurence's even gaze. "I worry that I have not yet learned the wisdom of command, that my mistakes may . . ." He shook his head. "These skirmishes will become war."
"As much else has."
"And we have much to defend."
"And will." Laurence leaned forward, studying Sheppard's face. "Sir, come eat."
Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "Eat?" he asked.
"Indeed." Laurence stood. "Much becomes unthinkable when a belly stands empty."
Sheppard laughed, surprising himself. "First, I should . . . " He thought of McKay, of bread and milk and honey.
"You should feed yourself, then look to others. Visit your dragon. Speak to your friends," Laurence counseled. "Speak to my dragon, if you wish it. Temeraire is accomplished in the art of conversation, and regularly operates upon my temper with a surgeon's precision." He smiled again. "Will you dine?"
Sheppard's stomach growled loudly and he startled at the sound. "I think perhaps the decision has been made," he said with some amusement, and stood, covering his stomach with a careful hand.
*****
So passed two days and nights of tolerable comfort. Sheppard dined, and read, and studied the dispatches gathered by the scouts; debated with Caldwell the wisdom of dragons deployed; visited his men; spent hours at Tripudio's side. What time he could manage without descent into guilt he spent with McKay, playing cards before the fire, debating science into hours become dark. He left whenever his longing grew noisy, when McKay grew tired, when the fire grew low. But a third night came with dreams of a scar upon McKay's shoulder, and his own lips pressed there, a benediction sworn to precious, injured flesh. He woke with a start, sweating and aroused, and groaned aloud to imagine this his future - he could not readily believe that these feelings might fade. Sleep was impossible - he threw back his sheets and fumbled for his clothes. Shirt and breeches, boots and coat; he dressed with haste and no thought for appearance, caring only that he manage to shut out the cold.
In contrast to the courtyard, the dragon shelters were pleasantly warm, and Sheppard shivered as he stepped inside. Athos and Sateda slept together, curled as though a mended whole; Tripudio dreamed and murmured happily, a foreleg twitching, her imagination climbing to some unspeakable height. Decus snored, a bass rumble that spoke to his gathered years, and beneath the soaring beams of the shelter, all were safe, all warm, all well-kept.
Temeraire yet sat awake, painting unfamiliar characters on paper with ink that had adhered to one claw. "Oh, hello," he said, pleasure in his voice as Sheppard reached his pen. "You are up very late."
"Or early," said Sheppard. "I hardly know which."
Temeraire tilted his head and watched him thoughtfully. "Do you read Chinese?" he asked, and nodded toward his work.
"No," said Sheppard, crouching to look at the neat rows of characters with greater attention. "What do you write?"
"Letters," Temeraire said, exceedingly pleased. "My mother is Chinese, and I have a particular friend at court. They like to hear of my adventures, since it is so rare that I can see them face to face."
Sheppard smiled just a little. "Correspondence soothes me," he said, standing, finding ease of conversation within him as he once had with Tripudio's egg. "The sounds, the smells. Ink, and paper."
"I quite understand," Temeraire replied. "At first I wrote in sand, as many Chinese dragons do. But this is much better now that I have learned how to gentle my claw." He waved his foot before setting it down. "Would you like to sit?" he asked. "Or do you have business elsewhere?"
"My business pursues me," Sheppard said, and sat on an upturned vegetable crate that was likely Laurence's sometimes seat. "I welcome your company, if I do not disturb."
Temeraire shifted, sitting also, wrapping his tail around his body and holding his head very high. "You seem sad," he observed.
"It is nothing."
"Yet you are awake."
"It is . . . something," Sheppard conceded awkwardly. "But I cannot articulate its reach."
"Do you worry still for Dr. McKay?" Temeraire asked. "Tripudio worries for you both - she says you do not seem well when apart."
Sheppard colored deeply, and scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "Oh."
"Is she wrong?"
Sheppard hardly knew how to answer. "I . . . value McKay as my most particular friend, but . . ."
"Perhaps you should share quarters," Temeraire said.
Sheppard almost fell off his stool. "I beg your pardon?" he managed. "I fear I misheard . . ."
"Athos and Sateda are happiest when they sleep as you see them now," Temeraire observed. "And Laurence is always happy after spending his midnight with Admiral Roland." He lowered his head. "I call her Jane."
Sheppard cleared his throat and grasped desperately for words. "We do not - that is . . . McKay and I are not . . ."
"You are not?" Temeraire asked, tilting his head. "Are you quite sure?"
"Gentlemen do not share beds in quite the manner Athos and Sateda, or your Captain and his partner might," said Sheppard.
"Why not?" asked Temeraire. "That is a very stupid rule."
Sheppard stared at a stray tuft of hay upon the floor for want of anything to fill his mind. "It is - the way in which we . . . Society does not . . ."
"Society," said Temeraire scornfully. "Society did not give dragons rights until we complained. In Edinburgh, dragons often slept in the streets, with refuse and rain and most irritating rats. Society did not pay us, or reward us, or let us fly without a harness because that is how it had always been done. It did not make it right."
Sheppard felt quite dizzy. "There are penalties," he said slowly. "Penalties for . . . " He met Temeraire's gaze. "Were no sailors caught in carnal acts upon your voyages around the world?"
"None that I recall," Temeraire said. "Would I have noticed?"
"Oh, yes," Sheppard said softly. "When they were hanged."
Temeraire blew forcefully through his nose. "For liking other men as Sateda likes Athos and Laurence likes Jane?"
"Yes," Sheppard said. "For exactly that. Were I to . . . were we to . . . And this is all beside the point since Dr. McKay is not - does not feel as . . ."
"I am sure you are wrong," Temeraire said. "I would wager a very small trinket on the matter. Small, but pretty and particularly shiny, you understand."
"It is a wager you need not make," Sheppard said, with a small smile. "It is all impossible."
"And thus you are sad," Temeraire observed, "when you might be happy and spend your midnight with Dr. McKay, and sleep as Athos and Sateda do. Society has much for which to answer."
"Without doubt," Sheppard replied. "But that is as it is."
"Perhaps not," came a voice.
Sheppard stood up with a start, the wooden crate that had been his stool falling behind. At the entrance to Temeraire's pen stood McKay, leaning on a walking stick, bundled against the night.
"Good evening, John."
Sheppard took a step back, but Temeraire's bulk blocked further movement. "You overheard."
"I did."
Sheppard sighed very softly and closed his eyes. "Do not say more, I beg of you. I will . . . remove myself from your company and . . ."
"You are only as intelligent as Hitchens on occasion," McKay said blithely. "Remove yourself from my company? Are you quite mad?"
"You know my feelings," Sheppard said in a rush, spine straight, face turned away. "I cannot ask you to continue our friendship when you understand my particular problem, nor ask you to condone my sin when . . ."
"Oh, do be quiet," McKay said briskly. "I have walked a great distance, considering my condition, and I am in no mood to tolerate a swoon. Your sin? What incomprehensible nonsense is that?"
"I do not believe he yet understands you reciprocate his feelings," Temeraire said, then coughed very delicately, and looked up at the ceiling.
Sheppard slowly raised his head. "I . . . " He swallowed to clear his throat. "Your pardon, Temeraire, but . . ."
"Damnable dragon," McKay grumbled. "Far too intelligent for your own good. But in this instance I suppose it is well you are here to speak sense to this man's stupidity. Yes," he said to Sheppard. "I do. Reciprocate." He ambled slowly across the pen. "Are you deaf, dumb, and blind?"
Sheppard blinked, agog. "I believe it possible," he said, quite stunned.
"Not dumb, apparently," said McKay, close enough now that Sheppard could clearly see each wrinkle nestled at the corners of his eyes, the creases worn by laughter that ran from his nose to his mouth.
"There is no one else awake," Temeraire said airily. "And I will keep watch if you would like to . . ." He coughed again.
Sheppard's heart stuttered, then clattered noisily in his chest. "If we would like to?" he repeated.
McKay stepped so close that Sheppard could feel the faint heat of his body, see the brilliant color of his eyes. "If we would like to," he whispered, and his gaze flickered to Sheppard's lips.
"Well," said Sheppard, and without forethought or understanding leaned in, eyes closing, and his mouth met McKay's in a kiss.
For a mere brush of lips it was more than Sheppard had imagined, the spark to some incandescent hope taking up lodging where nothing but heartache had lived. His hands moved to clasp McKay's elbows - and McKay winced and pulled away, mumbling, "shoulder?" before he leaned in to kiss him again.
When they parted some moments later, breathless, mouths wet and tongues alight, Temeraire hummed his satisfaction. "With dragons it is different," he said. "We do not show our affection with the touching of snouts. But I do think it seems a quite pleasant way to pass the time."
Sheppard glanced at Temeraire, then back at Rodney's wide-open face. "Might I touch your snout again?" he asked, and McKay began to laugh even as he agreed.
*****
Theirs was not an easy courtship. For all that they enjoyed a perfect understanding of each other, they could not reveal themselves to their friends, nor steal the moments vouchsafe to most embarked upon a journey of such discovery. Circumstances large and small stood arrayed against them - custom, law, religion, and family; the ominous storm clouds of impending war. Halifax harbour became crowded with His Majesty's ships; new works were undertaken; four thirty-six pound cannon found home at Cape Blomidon; six more were installed at York Redoubt. The diplomatic corps threw balls for the military, and the military threw grave doubt upon the abilities of the diplomatic corps to do more than entertain. Above it all flew the dragons; amid this was affection left to grow.
Yet a conspiracy of dragons grew around Sheppard and McKay - dragons who knew the behavior of each human at the covert; dragons who knew the island's thickets, caves and spurs; dragons who, with Tripudio first among equals, considered themselves duty-bound to act as lookout and keep ceaseless watch. Thus were quiet words exchanged and kisses pressed to gladdened mouths, fingers twined and promises kept. There could be, as yet, no complete fulfillment, but bewitched by chance, Sheppard felt equal to the wait, and McKay enquired of all who might know what opportunity there was of redeployment within the Corps. "The Pacific is littered with empty beaches," he confessed, and Sheppard did not know whether he should laugh or burn up from the sly want curled at the base of his spine.
His dreams had not grown less capable of making him sweat, but the situation seemed well in hand.
By May, war was certain, though formal declarations had yet to be made, and the hours Sheppard stole at Chebucto Head came fewer and further between. But the tenth of that month dawned warm and calm, and when Tripudio landed on the Head's fresh, green plains, it was with deepening pleasure that Sheppard watched McKay struggle to release his carabiner and slide to the ground with a modicum of grace.
They ate pasties as they had before, shared wine that McKay found only passable. Tripudio took to the air when her lunch was done, but though she swept and turned, corkscrewed and dove, Sheppard knew her ambition - she was keeping watch.
"Were it not for the damnable inconvenience of this limitless waiting, I would send my paper back to the Society with befitting haste. But it would be my luck," McKay said, gesturing emphatically at the wind-whipped ocean, "to dispatch my findings and have the carrier captured by Americans because of war."
Sheppard frowned, nodding thoughtfully. "You believe you would tempting fate?"
"I do. I do," said McKay.
"In different words, then - you believe you could cause war by attempting to share the fruits of your intellect?" Sheppard turned his head to study McKay's face.
McKay grimaced, blinked, and wrinkled his nose. "I . . . what? Sheppard, by God, I believe you to be . . . " He paused, and pointed toward himself. "Why do you stare? Have I gravy upon my chin?"
Sheppard smiled, and felt humbled by the freedom to do so - lifted his hand to cup McKay's jaw and dragged a thumb over his lips. "No," he whispered, and leaned in to press his mouth to McKay's.
Above them Tripudio spun and soared. With dragons in the world, much was well that had been ill.