Blaise in Space! fanfic100 prompt 38 (Touch)
A big thank you to linda3m for looking this over and her neverending encouragement.
465 words. Whoa.
It's a follow-up to Parents.
~*~
The transatlantic flight gave Blaise more than enough time to think. About anything. Anything other than why he hadn't contacted his mother the minute he'd been able to get out of Cheyenne Mountain.
He thought about the contract he'd been offered with Stargate Command. Basically doing what he had been doing on Atlantis, but with better chances of going off-world.
He thought about the suggestions from Petersen and Gilbert, and some of the other Linguistics Department people. People offering to help him get into an excellent linguistics program stateside.
He thought about never seeing Atlantis again.
He thought about Peter Grodin.
He thought about Draco Malfoy.
And that brought him neatly back around to his mother and home, such as it was.
He eventually fell asleep somewhere in the middle of the vicious circle and dreamt of Draco Malfoy visiting Atlantis and driving the Marines to throwing him off the East Pier within an hour.
The next thing he knew, the flight attendant was gently tapping his shoulder, telling him they were on final approach and he needed to put his seat in the full upright position.
He was able to let his mind wake up slowly while watching the plane's descent out the window. He thought of how much smoother, and faster, a puddlejumper would be. He quickly set that aside and told himself that he should just feel lucky to have even known what a puddlejumper was in the first place.
Deplaning was tedious, as was the Customs routine, but eventually he found himself in the Arrivals Hall amongst a sea of people. He was looking up at the signs, searching for the way out to find a taxi, when a deliberate touch on his arm startled him out of the zone he'd been in. He turned to see the last person he expected to find at Heathrow.
"Blaise?"
His mother. At Heathrow Airport. Standing there looking nervous, of all things. It was inconceivable. And yes, the word *did* mean what he thought it meant, thank you very much, Colonel Sheppard, for putting that in his mind forever.
"Maman?" It couldn't be. His mother never looked nervous or tentative. And he certainly wasn't that much taller.
She took a step closer and touched his cheek. And yes, this was his mother, apologizing over and over in whispered French. They hadn't spoken the language since one of the first few stepfathers complained that he couldn't understand. He gave in and wrapped his arms around her and mumured assurances back in French.
Mentally rolling his eyes, he couldn't believe he was acting like something out of one of those 'chick flicks', as McKay called them. But it felt right to do. He had missed her, whether or not he had ever admitted it to himself.
~*~
The big damn table is here.