Carson had been the first to notice. McKay supposes that's not a big surprise, considering Carson has a perfectly good medical degree and his eyesight is hardly going. The doctor had waited until they were comfortably alone in McKay's room with a couple of snifters before bringing it up, though. McKay likes that about him.

"How did you get that?" Carson says, pointing. Not why, or what happened. Just a simple, how?

McKay gears himself up for the usual boisterous tone for that particular story. "You would never believe it. My first cat, Ansel, did it. Face of an angel but the swiping arm of a champion wingman."

"Your cat?" Carson gives the usual skeptical response.

"It's how I met him, actually. I fell over him in the commons and he let me know how unappreciative of that he was. You should have seen it. It got infected; it was horrible."

"And you adopted the little hellion? Why?"

He cleaned up nice, and the ladies loved him, is the usual response, but Carson's frank and slightly rummy eyes make McKay excruciatingly aware that he is at the ends of the world and about to go somewhere from which they all may never return.

He fingers the long scars up the inside of his left arm, and he smiles with wonder, feeling the press of the silent ice and snow above them as he tells Carson the truth: "My advisor and a lab mate noticed and thought... Well. There was a ridiculously huge fuss. In retrospect, it was a good joke.

"The long and the short of it is, though, Ansel made me aware that there were people who cared."

***

Cadman splashes into the waves without hesitation. "Laura! For heaven's sake, there could be man-eating monsters in there."

She turns and gives him a look. "I guess I'm safe then, because I'm not a man."

"Don't be arch with me, lass."

She comes back to him and pulls teasingly on his fingers. "Don't worry, doctor, the big bad marine will protect you."

Carson has lived in three different countries for his studies and visited a dozen. He always thinks of his hometown as where he belongs, though, and there the seas are cold and the beaches forbidding to one who likes his creature comforts. Yet never has he seen a beach nor a woman so inviting as today.

"An alien sea monster is hardly going to be impressed with your explosives skills," Carson grumbles, but he bends down to remove his shoes and socks carefully. He's rolling up his trouser legs when Cadman exclaims, "Oh my god!"

He straightens in horror and stares around for the threat. But Cadman is laughing as she kneels to touch his ankle. "Is that...?" she says, and Carson knows exactly what she is looking at.

"Yes," he replies. She traces the mark with her callused fingers, and he shivers. "Ah, it was... we were very young and had just gotten our licenses. We were in 'high spirits', if you know what I mean."

She grins up at him, that impish smile sure to be the death of him one day. "Does your mother know?"

"Of course... not..." he stutters. He blushes to think what his mum might say if she saw it. But even a decade later he's never wanted to have it removed. It means something to him, even more so now that he's here, with death around the corner every day.

"You rebel, you," she says, sounding both sweet and casual in that matter-of-fact way she has. She helps him roll up his trousers the rest of the way, then springs to her feet and yanks him toward the water. "What kind of geek tattoos a caduceus on his ankle, anyway?" she says, just before she pushes him straight in.

***

Katie's taken aback, Cadman can tell. She actually stops in the doorway and opens her mouth, cartoon-like. "Don't you look nice," she says finally. There's a twinkle in her eye Laura hasn't seen in a while. The siege against the Wraith has taken a toll on everyone, which is part of the reason Cadman's throwing this gig.

"I told you to dress up," she reminds her, raising an eyebrow at Katie's plain knit top and khaki uniform pants. She puts her hands ostentatiously on her own hips, covered by her violet fish-scale short evening gown.

"I didn't bring anything," Katie says. "So sue me. Hey," she says, peering at Laura's ears. "I didn't even realize you had pierced ears. I've never seen you wearing any."

Cadman rolls her eyes. "Comes with living on a base, full-time."

"They're not allowed?" Katie asks, in that sympathetic tone that civilians adopt when talking about military regulations.

"Not the ones I like to wear," Cadman returns. She does an impromptu twirl and sashay, showing off her flashing, four-inch long Broadway earrings. "These were a gift from my mom, when I was last Earth-side. She buys me the nicest things."

Katie giggles at her affected drawl, then asks with curiosity, "How does she choose them?" Laura had told her long ago that her mother was blind. It's one of the more interesting things about how Cadman grew up, and she certainly doesn't mind sharing -- as well as, incidentally, improving awareness of folk with visual disabilities.

"Oh, she just asks for the longest, flashiest ones they have under fifty dollars. I get a new pair every year. Of course, usually I can only stare longingly at them. I don't often get the chance to wear them." She has twenty-three pairs of earrings in her bag; she carries them wherever she's stationed, with another sparkling addition every year.

"That's too bad." Katie makes a sympathetic moue. "Maybe Major Sheppard will let up on the regulations if we start a boycott or something. I mean, it's not as if he and Dr. Weir can spare the manpower. Besides, we're practically our own country way out here, right? There's nothing to stop them changing the rules when nobody's watching."

Cadman throws back her head and laughs. That's one of the reasons why Cadman likes her. Pretty, sweet, naive Katie Brown has some of the most wicked ideas. She can just imagine Sheppard's face. "Maybe we can do that," she says. "For the enfranchisement of earring wearers everywhere!" she shouts, starting to march in place a la Les Miserables.

She adds some empowering sounding stomps and rolls on every other downstep, and Katie is already hiccupping with laughter by the time Cadman finishes with a flourish of double-time riffles, kicks, and a backwards shuffle maddalo.

Katie wipes her eyes and asks, "How did you get into tap anyway? You never said."

Laura hesitates for only a split-second, then shrugs and tells her her silly secret, the one that she supposes everyone has one of: "I wanted to dance so my Mom could hear."

***

Teyla the alien winds up being the first person on Atlantis to see it.

Everyone's been invited to the mainland for the Athosian Harvest Day, and after long hours of deliberation, Katie decides to wear a brief halter-top she's brought back from Earth and a long skirt made from the fiber of a perennial shrub found on PTX-307. It feels almost like cotton but is genetically entirely dissimilar. (David had given it to her after visiting the planet of grass-weavers. He'd seemed a little sheepish; apparently it's not the women who wear the skirts there.)

Katie hopes to match what the Athosian women wear, and she thinks she's pretty close. She feels herself blush as she literally contemplates her navel one last time.

Her first boyfriend in college had given her a belly button ring for Valentine's. She'd gotten the piercing just so she could wear it. She'd found out later that her boyfriend's other girlfriend -- who did have a piercing, and was not taking a botany specialization -- had received a forget-me-not necklace at the same time. Katie had lost a boyfriend, but she had kept the piercing because it was so pretty.

She had also made a new friend (also incoincidentally newly single) who had introduced Katie to clubbing and Nine West high heels. She had also helped Katie to expand her belly button jewelry collection.

But Katie is a modest girl and usually wears them underneath her shirts.

When the knock comes on the door, she very nearly jumps. She contemplates again taking it out, but finally throws her hands in the air and goes to open the door.

It's Teyla who comes to collect her from the room. She is one of the Greeters to the Atlanteans for the festival, come to bring them to the party as 'off-world' allies of Athos. She looks over Katie with what looks like approval, and to Katie's embarrassment, her eyes stop on her midriff.

"I have never seen that form of jewelry before," she says. "It is very pretty."

"Oh, thanks! It's not exactly usual, really. Actually, um, mine was a bit of an accident. It was meant for someone else, but I got the piercing so..."

Teyla nods. Her deep-set eyes look knowing. Katie is struck again by how old Teyla seems, even though physically she looks younger than Katie herself.

Taking in Teyla's beautiful but imposing outfit of hand-stitched leather, Katie wishes she has something more intelligent to say. She doesn't even understand people from her own world that well. What hope could she have to understand actual aliens?

"Among my people, wearing a red flower is a sign that you are available for the attentions of men."

Katie's eyes widen. "Really?" Her emotions war between wanting to remove the jewelry as fast as humanly possible, and feeling pleased at her choice.

The quirk of lips is the first clue. Then Teyla smiles, warm and teasing. "No. I am afraid that was a lie. But it is lovely and you should keep it."

Katie is shocked at first, but laughs as she follows Teyla out to the hallway, where other people are waiting to leave together.

She dances all night with a ruby flower sparkling for everyone to see.

***

Colonel Caldwell, commander of the spaceship Daedelus, walks into the infirmary just as Dr. Beckett is finishing up. His tall form looks cramped to her in this closed, sterile space. "It should heal just fine by itself," Dr. Beckett says, drawing her attention back to the examination. "You were lucky. I don't think it will even scar."

Teyla sees the Colonel frown at her injury. It is not an unkind look, but there is a quality of... irritation to it.

"Are you busy, Doctor?" The Colonel asks, focusing on his mission. He is a man used to command and dissatisfied with those who do not offer it to him. He is very unlike her father, or herself.

"Colonel Caldwell, you're here for those numbers, I presume?"

Teyla rolls her shoulders surreptitiously, nevertheless receiving an admonishing look from Carson. She flashes him a reassuring smile; she only wants to test out the extent of the injury for herself. There is still something about all this technology -- amazing though it is -- that is a little outside of her world.

"Yes, thank you, Doctor."

"No trouble. I'll be just a moment." Carson dismisses her kindly with, "Take care," before heading towards his office.

She gets up to pull the curtain closed prior to changing out of the medical scrubs, but she lingers to look over the tall colonel from Earth. He returns her gaze, at first with disinterest, then with curiosity, then with slight discomfort when she does not look away.

"Injury from off-world?" he says, falling back on words in his awkwardness, as many people of Earth seem to do.

"Only a minor one," she returns, keeping her voice pleasant.

"I overheard the doctor. I'm glad it won't leave a scar."

It's not the scarring that concerns her, and he probably knows that, being a warrior himself. He's too reserved to be properly soliciting of the injury, however, and too stiff-necked to make a joke of it.

He is so unlike John.

He is not a poor leader, she can tell. She has seen him directing his people and interacting with Elizabeth, and most of his actions are commendable.

But.

Teyla is here to fight the Wraith, and she is here to guard her people. Colonel Caldwell may be competent enough in the former, but he would be dismal at the latter, and thus she has no time for him.

Besides.

The Wraith do not fight with logic. Their entire world is one of hunger, rage, emotion. She cannot imagine a man like Caldwell fighting such an enemy successfully, with his well-meaning efficiency.

Caldwell is a Colonel, which Teyla understands is a rank higher even than John's. He does not shift his eyes from her continuing assessment.

"You're on Sheppard's team, right?" he asks her.

"Yes. He is a good leader."

He frowns again, that worried, irritated look. She smiles, trying to allay his unvoiced concern. And suspicions. She has scars on her body but none in her spirit.

"This? It is nothing. Colonel Sheppard takes care of his people in the ways that count." There would not be fewer injuries or more kills if Caldwell were in charge. She is certain of that.

She hopes that Caldwell will learn the same.

***

Ford's one of the few people whom Caldwell has shown the picture to, though he probably doesn't realize it.

Caldwell pulls orientation duty for new recruits to the SGC on the third week of May. (Being an officer has its hazards.)

Ford's one of those bright-eyed recruits who looks like he's been put in the cockpit of an X-wing fighter straight out of the movies. Caldwell figures that the shine will rub off after a few weeks, but when he runs into the young man a month later, he seems just as excited to be here as he ever was.

It's then that Caldwell finally bothers to remember Aiden Ford's name. It's become apparent that he's one of the keepers. Stephen likes to think that he was once that enthused about his job.

Caldwell's bucking for a bigger command position, keeping his nose clean, doing the work that people notice. He likes to make some time, though, for trying to be the mentor that his commander was to him.

"Second Lieutenant Ford, isn't it?" he asks, catching the boy during lunch one day.

"Yes, sir," is the crisp reply.

"How are you holding up? Those alien worlds giving you any trouble?"

"Oh, it's great! Sir." The excitement bubbles to the surface again. It's a great thing to have, but it could be dangerous if not controlled. Caldwell knows that, better than most.

"Don't get overexcited," Caldwell cautions. "It's not like any other missions on Earth. There's risks and consequences you have to be able to think around every time you step through that gate. When you lead your own team, you'll understand."

The boy looks properly thrilled at the prospect of leading his own gate team. Obviously, he isn't ready yet, but Caldwell thinks he has what it takes, provided he stays motivated enough to gain the necessary experience and training.

"Thanks, sir. I'll keep that in mind. Hey, maybe some day I'll get to meet your grateful worshippers on R6S-419."

"You know about that?" Caldwell finds himself absurdly pleased that the young recruit knows about him.

"Oh, sure. It's hard not to know LTC Caldwell. I hear you're up for a promotion soon. Captain Reynolds always said flyboys--" He cuts himself off with an unnaturally fast swig of his ice tea.

Caldwell raises a telling eyebrow, but Ford doesn't finish the thought.

The Stargate is an Air Force project. They don't let anyone else forget that. The ribbing between the departments gets intense at times, but Caldwell has always found it pleasantly competitive without being detrimental to overall morale and efficiency. He lets Ford off the hook, drawing out his wallet-sized cardholder instead.

"I have something to show you," he says. Ford feigns delighted interest to escape the prior embarrassment. Stephen shows Ford the photograph, laminated and small but clear enough. It's a young man, maybe mid-teens, with spiked neon hair and piercings of every possible kind on his face. There's a wild, unharnessed look in his eyes.

"That's enthusiasm without discipline," he tells Ford. "You don't see any fetters on him, but you'll never see any medals either. This guy's feeling no pain, but he's no good to anyone, much less himself. Keep that in mind." Stephen keeps the picture to remind himself of the same.

He's sometimes surprised, himself, that he was once that boy.

Ford nods dutifully. Caldwell hopes it's not wishful thinking that he sees the beginning of understanding in the young man.

Well. There will be time enough for him and others to learn.

***

Ronon's eyes travel over his chest when Ford removes his sweat-drenched shirt. Ford knows that the scars, both recent and old, stand out on his dark skin. Most of them he is proud to flaunt.

"You get a few bumps and scrapes when you're kicking Wraith ass all the time," Ford says.

It's a hard life out here, but it's worth it many times over. He feels good about himself in ways that are hard to describe, and his boys are the best. Ford knows that their success is due to his own leadership and training. He's making a difference here that he's never been able to before.

Sure, his methods are edgier, riskier, but that's what war is all about. You fight to win and you don't sweat the small stuff. Sheppard, Teyla, Doc McKay, even this dude here with his attitude and his fancy dreadlocks... soon they would all start giving him that respect that he'd never even known he craved.

One day, he will step back onto Atlantis and be hailed as a hero.

Until they were willing to see how he'd proved himself, though, he'd just have to keep up the good fight and never let his guard down.

The guy shrugs his wide shoulders, seeming to agree. Aiden thinks it's ironic that his alien 'replacement' seems to understand him best of all.

Well, he would understand this, then, too.

"Give him the next dose. He's ready," he orders, and his guys do their thing.

***

Kavanaugh, the doctor that Weir doesn't like, makes degrading remarks about tattoos and the people who have them when Ronon is in his vicinity.

Ronon lets him get away with it at first, because it seems to him that the Atlantis folk are pretty protective of their scientists. Civilians. He figures out pretty quick, though, that while physical violence is frowned upon, a certain amount of intimidation is acceptable.

It's hard, of course, to get anyone alone on Atlantis, partly because they're under standing orders from Sheppard never to be. Ronon hasn't survived seven years as a runner by being impatient, however, so it's only a matter of time before he catches Kavanaugh late in the halls one night.

A quick grab and a fun little squeak later, and he has him pinned against the wall.

"You haven't anything to say to me?" he says, point blank. Kavanaugh looks like he's about to have a coronary. Ronon smiles with plenty of teeth to encourage that along.

"You see this mark on my neck?" he asks. "I worked my ass off to get it. It tells people that I work in the Special Operations squad, the best of the best. People like you aren't fit to touch our boot heels." He's told no one else what this mark means to him, and it angers him more that this man is the first to know. He wants it to make a difference.

Kavanaugh seems to rally a bit. Instead of looking impressed, he sneers and says, "So, they're like caveman boy scout badges?"

Ronon doesn't know what that is, but he's willing to bet by the scientist's tone that it isn't anything like the elite high-action squadron Specialist Dex had been proud to be a member of. He shoves the scientist against the wall, hard.

"We take down anyone and anything that's needed. Maybe you'd better remember that."

"Not anymore, you don't. Aren't all your 'best of the best' buddies dead or something?"

Ronon wants to snap his neck, almost does, but he's not living outside the law anymore. He's found a place for himself and he wants to stay. He makes do with a quick tightening of pressure that makes the scientist's eyes pop.

Kavanaugh has gone white-lipped, but he keeps his mouth shut and Ronon lets him go. A dog, he's learned, once properly cowed, will not present any more problems down the line.

As he's turning away, though, Kavanaugh says, "You think you're in the elite team now? Think again."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Team Sheppard? You really think you're in the best hands here? You're better off still living in the jungle. Hell, with these people in charge, I'm not expecting to survive to the end of the year."

Casting aspersions on a man's team is the worst of insults. Competition among teams is one thing, but from the mouth of a civilian? No.

"You say one more word, and I'll make sure you never say anything again."

This time, Kavanaugh holds his hands up in the posture of surrender. Apparently, he does knows when to shut up. If he had been a fellow Satedan, who knew the rules that Ronon lives by, Ronon would have felt justified in reporting the man for a whipping.

Defenders of the people against the Wraith had been the most honored profession on his planet, and Ronon had been -- is still -- on the team with the best of the best.

Kavanaugh makes a show of genuflecting before leaving. Ronon lets him go, though it leaves a foul taste in his mouth. Ronon doesn't think he will ever run out of anger, but he'll reserve a special portion for this man.

He's not a dog. He's a fox. But the wiliest of creatures step over the line sometimes. When he tries to nip and bite again, Ronon will be ready.

***

Zelenka wouldn't have seen if Kavanaugh hadn't made the mistake of rolling up his sleeves to prevent knocking over the oddly bonsai-like contraption he is working with. In fact, the Czech doctor is only in Kavanaugh's lab in the first place because he's carrying out one of Weir's bright ideas for morale -- passing out packets of fattening, non-authentic gingersnap cookies that everyone could have gotten at the cafeteria anyway.

All the business of wrapping and delivering the packets (instead of doing something useful like, say, looking for a way home) is to celebrate the 'winter solstice', he's heard. It couldn't be Christmas, of course, because that would be culturally denominational, even if the seasons are different here and they're a galaxy away from their own.

"What happened?" Zelenka asks, and Kavanaugh doesn't get it for a moment.

Zelenka pushes up his glasses with one finger and stares, making Kavanaugh grimace. "What?" he says.

"Your arm. It looks like it was burned. Recently."

He flinches, which makes him scowl even more. He's been experimenting with a few side projects at night that he'd rather other people didn't know about. He can't say much about the people here -- same old bureaucracy, same old mess -- but even he has to admit that Atlantis is a fascinating place to be.

It's stupid beginner's stuff, really, what he is doing. He figures, though, if he can't have a little fun here, where would he have fun?

He'd wanted to be a chemist when he was younger.

"It's nothing," he says. "Don't you know it's rude to stare?" He turns his back deliberately, looking for someone to upbraid for their increasingly shoddy work. Everyone's getting sloppy as they lose hope. He can't blame them, but he'd rather not go down with the ship.

Zelenka says something snide under his breath, but he thrusts forward and presses a packet of cookies straight into Kavanaugh's hand.

***

Dr. Weir's voice startles him as he reaches up to adjust the panels on Jumper 4: "What do you have there, Dr. Zelenka?"

He jumps, startled by her appearance. He experiences a moment of deja vu. "Ah, what is it you need?" he inquires.

She lifts one slender brow and he follows her line of sight to his lower back. "My scientists aren't having a little fun on the wild side without me, are they?" she says, in a teasing voice that is nevertheless demanding of information.

He flushes red as he realizes what she refers to.

"It is... This isn't..." Zelenka sometimes regrets being unable to fall back on the confused foreigner routine. His English has improved vastly since his undergraduate years. He is also not certain that Dr. Weir is entirely unfamiliar with the Czech language. It is more than possible she has been feigning ignorance whenever he happened to mutter ungentlemanly things in her presence.

That's not from the natives of M7G-677, is it?" she asks, her brows furrowing in sympathy.

He is pleased that she knows what missions he has been on. Of course, he is deputy Chief of Science; it must be her duty to know his whereabouts. However, the pleasure remains.

"No, no," he hurries to assure her. "They gave me only paint markings. They are gone by now. Completely washed off."

"Then...? I'm pretty sure you didn't have that when we left Earth."

He isn't sure how she knows that, unless it is simply a ploy to make him speak.

It isn't that he does not want her to know. It is simply difficult to explain.

"There was a woman on the Mainland who did it for me," he tells her. "I saw her work. Wonderful, intricate designs. They made me think of various beautiful things, and I felt I wanted to keep one for myself."

The full story would include the beaded necklaces his grandmother wore, the bracelet that his mathematics professor left behind one day, the glasses and cups in the shop across from his apartment in Prague, the stars and comets of another galaxy...

"It's silly, perhaps. But..." He makes a motion of helplessness.

She nods, seeming to understand. "But why on your back? You won't be seeing much of it yourself," she points out.

He blinks, caught. "I don't know," he admits.

He honestly hadn't thought of it. But maybe... Maybe it is because he wishes to be seen.

Dr. Weir makes no further comment on the subject, drawing his attention to the schematics from his report last week that she has obviously read, line by line.

***

John invites himself to sit with her for dinner the day after she gets out of the infirmary, which is no surprise. She hasn't been quite herself lately, and her people have a disturbing propensity to 'baby-sit'.

"Why is it that dessert is always the only decent part of the meal?" he asks her, in a too-casual voice.

She restrains herself from rolling her eyes, but answers in a serious tone, "Sweets are apparently the universal constant. It's really interesting how identical the chocolate made here tastes to our own."

"Fascinating," John agrees, pushing just this side of sarcastic.

She smiles sweetly in response, and returns to her mashed potatoes with ostensible gusto.

"Hey, look," he says, and she braces herself for some convoluted attempt at a heart-to-heart. She's made plans to speak with Dr. Heightmeyer. She's not one to shun an impartial but caring ear, and at the least she makes it a point to follow her own counsel. All John says, however, is, "I'm glad you're okay."

And that's it.

She looks at him, but he has only that sincere hound dog expression that she's come to know so well. She wonders if it's inappropriate to compare the commander of the military contingent to her dog.

Then she wonders how Sedge -- the real one -- is doing without her. It's horrible to even think it, but she had enjoyed parts of what happened to her. She hadn't felt so cared for by her mother in years, for example, too busy traveling and being strong. It had been almost like a vacation.

Until, of course, it had turned into something else, that only her friends had been able to drag her out of.

"Thank you," she replies, heartfelt, and she steals his black forest cake.

***

It's Rodney who finds him, yelling in high-pitched panic, "Colonel!" Then, "He's over here!"

The first shot is overly-loud to John's ears. It goes wide but seems to get the attention of his attacker. The second shot wings a shoulder, causing a furious roar, and then John hears the voices of the rest of his team.

The bear/wolf/tiger thing steps over him, and John has the inane thought, "Jesus, but his dick is huge," before he passes out from (he is told later) blood loss from nearly having his arm ripped to shreds.

He wakes up in the infirmary an indeterminate amount of time later, long enough to not remember how he got there, short enough for him to still feel a buttload of pain. "Did we bring that son of a bitch back?" he says. "Been a long time since we had a good barbeque."

There is a scurry of medical-type activity around him, most of which he misses as he drifts in and out. His mind clears again to hear the rich brogue of the good doctor telling him, "You were touch-and-go there for a while, Colonel. You had us worried."

John looks muzzily down, making out his arm covered in bandages up to the shoulder.

"Looks like a werewolf got me," he groans.

"Yeah, well, we should be glad it wasn't. Don't want you running around like a wild animal. Again." John glares as best he can at Rodney beside him. There are, John realizes, a veritable mob of anxious-looking people surrounding the bed.

Rodney huffs, then brightens and says, "Hey, I've told you about how I met my first cat, right?"

He has, but John can tell from the expressions of the people around him that some of them haven't heard this before, so he grins and says, "Tell me."

He allows his eyes to unfocus and he lets the words wash over him, as everyone gathers close to listen again, forming a circle with each other.

End


 

If you enjoyed this story, you might try these: 
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