The crack is not dead.
Sash induced this, which is to say she wondered with me at the what and why of how SGA in particular, and nothing in general, will ever be as dead awesome as Supernatural. Then she actually wrote *lines* at me, which is like waving red flags at a really, really deranged bull. Kael didn't drown me when she had the chance. I blame them both.
Major (retired) Nick 'Lorne' Sheppard, formerly of the US Marine Corps, left behind a grieving wife and two sons when a fire at his home killed him twenty two years ago.
He knows he doesn't need to be asking for much, here. Whatever he does ask, Cadman will do her best to get for him, and that's always been as much a responsibility as a privilege. Cadman, Markham, the others -- not only did they serve with his dad, which apparently made them blood brothers (there's a lot John doesn't get about the military, but *that* at least he can respect,) but Cadman and her people still hold themselves responsible for setting his mom on her way, for helping her train and prepare when she asked, for taking no for an answer when they wanted to know why. John wouldn't blame them for that even if his mom *was* a crazy woman dragging her kids around in chase of things that only existed inside her head. His mom's always been able to talk anybody into anything.
It doesn't make him proud to know he got some of that from her. But sometimes it comes in handy.
"Well," he says. Cadman waits.
**
Ronon doesn't remember his father.
He used to try to, even though both his mom and John told him it wasn't likely he'd ever be able to. The summer Ronon was eight, Daniel Jackson taught him about meditation, and he'd lie on his back in the living room of Catherine's house and try to use it, try to push himself through to the other side, to remember some blurry impression of a face over a baby crib.
Ronon's earliest memory: Fighting with John. He remembers the sense of barking his shin on a chair leg, of John muttering a breathless apology, of clenching his teeth and refusing to cry. He remembers his arm across John's throat the way he'd been taught; he hadn't known then that it was possible for his brother, from the height of his nine years of age, to allow him to win.
Second earliest: Later that year, maybe, sitting on the ground (dusty but cool in the shade) holding his little brother's hand while John shot dead on for the fifth time out of eight and his mom (whipcord thin like she always is in his memory, frowning in concentration, her hair up from her sweaty neck) said, "Good. Fix your aim to the right a little."
Maybe it was a little later, the year after maybe, because Ford had been frightened by gunshots when he'd first come to them. This doesn't count as a real memory, just a time-vague impression of bewilderment as Ford cried like werewolves were coming to take him.
Perhaps he should had known then that Ford would never really be a Sheppard, that with no connection to the accident of birth, he would never be theirs to keep.
**
"She doesn't really want me to come back," Ford had said, before he went off to California. He was lying, and Ronon didn't know why. There was no way Ford didn't know well enough to know their mom would always want him back.
Maybe it just made it easier on him. Ronon knows there are some things about people he'll always have trouble understanding, even when it comes to those nearest and dearest to him.
("You know how it goes, man, someone's gotta be muscle," Ford had said once, and he was kidding, honestly kidding, because Ford was smarter about people than Ronon, but sometimes he was a little stupid too. That was the only time in adult memory Ronon can recall John looking mad enough to hit Ford.)
It was a joke, though -- Ronon's pretty sure it was a joke. Ford was pretty weird just before he went off to college.
**
"We should get Ford," John says."
Ronnon looks at him.
John keeps looking out the windshield. "Well, we should. If this is something big enough to get in mom's way, we could use the fire power. Besides," and he says this casually, as if it means nothing, "Might be nice."
Ronon doesn't say anything. Sometimes, John's a little stupid about people, too.
**
Ronon and John take turns checking on Ford. They didn't talk about it; John just said, one morning, "Goin' to California," and that was that. There's a lot they don't bother talking about, just do, and Ronon wonders sometimes, a little uncomfortably, if that was ever part of Ford ending up a step removed -- hell, half a continent removed. Ford and John had always had things that were theirs, too, their words and their jokes, and growing up, Ronon never resented that. There's not so much between himself and Ford, other than the vast universe of being their mother's children, but Ronon can't imagine that he could think any of them would ever not want him.
The trips aren't a secret; neither of them doubts their mom knows and approves. But she doesn't talk about them, either. They just go on being Sheppards, the best they know how.
Ford loved explosions by the time he was four. That should have meant something, too.
Major (retired) Nick 'Lorne' Sheppard, formerly of the US Marine Corps, left behind a grieving wife and two sons when a fire at his home killed him twenty two years ago.
He knows he doesn't need to be asking for much, here. Whatever he does ask, Cadman will do her best to get for him, and that's always been as much a responsibility as a privilege. Cadman, Markham, the others -- not only did they serve with his dad, which apparently made them blood brothers (there's a lot John doesn't get about the military, but *that* at least he can respect,) but Cadman and her people still hold themselves responsible for setting his mom on her way, for helping her train and prepare when she asked, for taking no for an answer when they wanted to know why. John wouldn't blame them for that even if his mom *was* a crazy woman dragging her kids around in chase of things that only existed inside her head. His mom's always been able to talk anybody into anything.
It doesn't make him proud to know he got some of that from her. But sometimes it comes in handy.
"Well," he says. Cadman waits.
**
Ronon doesn't remember his father.
He used to try to, even though both his mom and John told him it wasn't likely he'd ever be able to. The summer Ronon was eight, Daniel Jackson taught him about meditation, and he'd lie on his back in the living room of Catherine's house and try to use it, try to push himself through to the other side, to remember some blurry impression of a face over a baby crib.
Ronon's earliest memory: Fighting with John. He remembers the sense of barking his shin on a chair leg, of John muttering a breathless apology, of clenching his teeth and refusing to cry. He remembers his arm across John's throat the way he'd been taught; he hadn't known then that it was possible for his brother, from the height of his nine years of age, to allow him to win.
Second earliest: Later that year, maybe, sitting on the ground (dusty but cool in the shade) holding his little brother's hand while John shot dead on for the fifth time out of eight and his mom (whipcord thin like she always is in his memory, frowning in concentration, her hair up from her sweaty neck) said, "Good. Fix your aim to the right a little."
Maybe it was a little later, the year after maybe, because Ford had been frightened by gunshots when he'd first come to them. This doesn't count as a real memory, just a time-vague impression of bewilderment as Ford cried like werewolves were coming to take him.
Perhaps he should had known then that Ford would never really be a Sheppard, that with no connection to the accident of birth, he would never be theirs to keep.
**
"She doesn't really want me to come back," Ford had said, before he went off to California. He was lying, and Ronon didn't know why. There was no way Ford didn't know well enough to know their mom would always want him back.
Maybe it just made it easier on him. Ronon knows there are some things about people he'll always have trouble understanding, even when it comes to those nearest and dearest to him.
("You know how it goes, man, someone's gotta be muscle," Ford had said once, and he was kidding, honestly kidding, because Ford was smarter about people than Ronon, but sometimes he was a little stupid too. That was the only time in adult memory Ronon can recall John looking mad enough to hit Ford.)
It was a joke, though -- Ronon's pretty sure it was a joke. Ford was pretty weird just before he went off to college.
**
"We should get Ford," John says."
Ronnon looks at him.
John keeps looking out the windshield. "Well, we should. If this is something big enough to get in mom's way, we could use the fire power. Besides," and he says this casually, as if it means nothing, "Might be nice."
Ronon doesn't say anything. Sometimes, John's a little stupid about people, too.
**
Ronon and John take turns checking on Ford. They didn't talk about it; John just said, one morning, "Goin' to California," and that was that. There's a lot they don't bother talking about, just do, and Ronon wonders sometimes, a little uncomfortably, if that was ever part of Ford ending up a step removed -- hell, half a continent removed. Ford and John had always had things that were theirs, too, their words and their jokes, and growing up, Ronon never resented that. There's not so much between himself and Ford, other than the vast universe of being their mother's children, but Ronon can't imagine that he could think any of them would ever not want him.
The trips aren't a secret; neither of them doubts their mom knows and approves. But she doesn't talk about them, either. They just go on being Sheppards, the best they know how.
Ford loved explosions by the time he was four. That should have meant something, too.