Day Eight Hundred Seventy-Two

John hovers over the courtyard, he can see Rania through the windshield, quivering with excitement by the temple doors, until he gently lands the 'jumper. He chuckles as she scoots down on her bottom, and he meets her at the foot of the stairs.

He swings her high in the air as she laughs, "Fly me!" and then pulls her close for a hug and a kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and clings to his side with her stubby little legs. "How's my best girl?" John can't resist tickling her, just to hear that giggle, as he starts up the stairs.

"No, no! Fly me!" Rania urgently points to the jumper behind them.

"I've created a monster," he whispers in her ear. "Later, zahra'an. Got to talk to your papa first."

"Papa not here."

"Where did your papa go?"

Shaaziya meets them at door, acknowledges the Quaralyn with a small nod. "Zuhair and Rodney went to N'vellesem this morning, to check some data from the Avaxqaral."

John smiles and gives Shaaziya a light hug. "Hi. You look good. How are you?"

A faint smile plays around her mouth. "I am very well."

"Oh, really?"

"Rodney is quite proud of himself; the Qaralyn Arch lights with this one, too. I had to 'kick him out of the house', as he says, to get some peace."

Rania tips his head using a fistful of his long hair as John laughs. "That's wonderful news, Shaaziya, congratulations."

Shaaziya bows very slightly, "Thank you. Come, I just sent to have a meal prepared," she says as she draws John into the cool, dim corridor.

"Thanks, that sounds fine." Rania tugs at the thin beaded chain underneath the collar of his scarlet robe, and John pulls his dog tags out for her to play with as he carries her up to the sitting room.

John shifts Rania around to his lap as he slouches down onto the sofa. Shaaziya takes the chair next to him. "You must tell me, how does the construction go?"

"The main construction is almost complete; the roof is all that's left. Qahira and Tazim are planning to have the stones inscribed with the story of Makhuqat, all the way back to the beginning. It'll look fantastic."

"It sounds very fitting."

"And usable. I know we haven't seen the end of the Wraith, but when they come back, Makhuqat will be ready. How are things here?"

"Father is insufferably pleased with himself. Rodney has finally taught him to fly the makhuqat'an. They argued at breakfast about who was to pilot today."

John grins, he can just imagine Rodney trying to shout down the irascible Zuhair and losing.

Lunch arrives, and Rania crawls off the sofa to allow John to stand as the servants bow low. He lets the warmth of their sincere devotion wash over him. John offers the expected blessing, "Ze'omlat kavela."

"Za'omlat Nat, Quaralyn," they intone in return as they depart.

At least they're not crawling backwards; that had been a difficult habit to break. John tears a strip of the khabez and scoops up a bit of stew and hands it to Rania. They eat quietly, John and Shaaziya handing off small bites to the child.

When they've eaten their fill, John pours glasses of hot, sweet tea and leans back into the sofa. Rania crawls into Shaaziya's lap and pats her breast.

John studies his tea as they get situated, Shaaziya stroking Rania's dark, fluffy hair. "Do you want to go to N'vellesem with me this afternoon? Rodney said he had something he wanted to run by me, but I'd just arrived in Gadon, and there were some folks I needed to see."

Shaaziya gives John a knowing look when he mentions Gadon, but she doesn't press for details, and his gaze is still focused on the tea. "I think that we would like that very much. I promise to not tell Rodney that you let her fly."

John snickers. "What he doesn't know won't kill him, right?"

"He gets quite irritated. 'Babies are not meant to fly', he yells."

"That baby was meant to fly, and one of these days, I might actually let her have the controls."

"Please do not tell my husband, I do not want to raise my children by myself."

John winks at her. "Our little secret."

Shaaziya lifts Rania to her shoulder as she stands up, patting her gently on the back as she snores, completely limp. "This one will sleep through it today."

~*~

John parks the 'jumper next to Rodney's, just outside the N'vellesem gate, and ushers Shaaziya out with a delicate touch to her elbow.

N'vellesem is as lovely as ever. The clean, white flagstones in the plaza are nearly blinding in the hot sun, the rich colors and textures of the wares spilling out of the shops are pleasing to the eye. The sound of the fountain offers the ear a gentle counterpoint to the rise and fall of melodic voices as they haggle and chat. There's a faint, spicy scent of fragrant yalah and mekht hanging in the air as he passes the teahouse, old Fakih's distilling a new batch of ekal.

Although John's finally become accustomed to the open adulation that greets him whereever he goes on Dominat, the comfortable greetings and casual acceptance he receives in N'vellesem settles him and speaks to him of home.

He makes a mental note to stop in and pay his respects to Neela, and visit Laith as they pass the alleyway to the rememdium's home. John pauses and bows slightly in front of the statue of Qaral, before heading downstairs to the Avaxqaral. The lights are dimmed in the cool room, Rodney's head bent next to Zuhair's over the display.

John calls out to him, "Hey, look who I found."

As always, the completely besotted look on Rodney's face as he sees Rania and Shaaziya gives John a sweet measure of joy. How can he not love them as dearly as his very own, when Rodney's utter devotion sings through him?

John basks in Shaaziya's own contentment and smoldering ardor as Rodney takes Rania from her with a tender kiss, snuggling his sleepy daughter close.

Underneath, John feels Zuhair's powerful devotion, and he has to shake away the dazed feeling. He grasps Zuhair's hand, and briefly touches Rodney's arm. "So, what did you guys find?"

"I finally got the cross-reference interface for Makhuqat's logs with the database to work."

"That's great, Rodney. What are we going to do with it?" John is eternally grateful to Zuhair and Anbur. Rodney's completely fulfilled with meaningful work, surrounded by his family who adore and support each other in turn.

"Yes, yes, it's all data mining and theory, but being able to pinpoint something in the database with any accuracy is a victory. More to the point, I think we located the collector schematics."

"Rodney, that's great! Good job, both of you."

Rodney's eyes flicker over to John, and then away, and he fidgets.

"So what's really up?"

"Uhm, Elizabeth was here, she asked if you were still, uh."

"Mad?" John asks.

"That's not the word she used, but yes. Furious with her."

He has to think about that. It's been an anam since Hermiod died, the last time he'd spoken to her on the radio. Elizabeth had still been bitter about John's defection from N'vellesem, and John was shattered by their callous treatment of Hermiod and himself, but that was a long time ago. "I'm not furious."

"The reason she asked, uh, well. She needs a favor."

Zuhair glowers when he catches John's eye. He's still touchy about the arrangement between Anbur and Elizabeth that gave her access to the Avaxqaral, even though it fell squarely within the bounds of Mediat.

"Okay, I'll bite. What?"

"It's Steven, actually. He's not well, quite sick."

John gives Rodney an ironical lift of his brow. He hasn't spoken to the Colonel since turning his back and walking out of the office after the last Wraith battle. "I see."

Rodney shifts nervously, as he looks John in the eyes. "I told her I'd pass on the message, that's all."

John shoves his hands into the pockets of his black robe, and rocks back on his heels. "Fakih's got a new batch of ekal; smelled it on the way over. You want to meet me there in a couple of hours? Zuhair, can I buy you a drink?"

"That would be very fine indeed, Shepherd."

Rodney confers with Shaaziya with a few glances. "Sounds great."

"Okay then, I guess I'm off to the Quarter."

Rodney's relief is obvious, his face can't hide a thing.

John knows he's made the right decision, and that in many ways, Rodney's a better man than he is—he's mostly forgiven Elizabeth and maintains regular, cordial contact with the Quarter, keeping John updated on their comings and goings. It was time he crossed Rodney's carefully maintained bridge.

~*~

The infirmary door is open, and the scene is a familiar one. Elizabeth is sitting in a chair, her foot up on the edge of the Colonel's bed with her head propped on her hand. Caldwell's bathed in sweat and trembling with the effort of his raspy breathing. Carson sees John and joins him in the hallway, gently closing the door behind him. "Good to see you, John, you're looking fine and fit," he says quietly.

"Thanks, you've lost some weight."

"Aye, it's all the clean living. You've come to see the Colonel?"

"Rodney told me."

"I have to admit I didn't expect to see you so soon."

"I was in the neighborhood. How long has he been sick?"

"At least several weeks that I know of. He went to check on the Daedalus against all advice, and he's been hiding the symptoms. The problem is, what drugs I hadn't used up, I threw out months ago; they were all past expiration."

"You did warn them to stay away."

"That I did. You want to have a go at it, then?"

"Yeah. Is anyone else sick?"

"Most of them aren't too stubborn to see Neela, or Laith."

John chuckles humorlessly. "I can't imagine that he'll be any happier to see me."

Carson shakes his head. "At this point, his only other alternative is dying. Come on."

Elizabeth is standing next to the bed when Carson opens the door. "John," she says carefully.

He nods. "Elizabeth." He shrugs off his robe and lays it over the back of her chair. "I need you to leave."

She frowns and looks down at Steven, but doesn't move. She folds her arms across her chest. "I'd rather stay."

"I'm about to get really intimate, touchy-feely with your boyfriend, and I really don't want you watching."

Carson intervenes. "Let's go, love, let the man do his work," his hand is on her back as he moves her out of the way. "We'll wait out in the hallway."

"Thanks, Carson."

John sits on the bed next to Caldwell, who doesn't wake up, and begins to unbutton his shirt. "I guess I can call you Steven. Considering." He pushes the shirt aside, exposing his torso, and begins his work at the neck.

He closes his eyes as he concentrates. John can feel the rough beard under his palms, and then the flat nipples and wiry chest hair as he strokes downward. John keeps his hands moving in firm strokes.

John can see the infection; see where it's festering in Steven's lungs and the swollen, overtaxed lymph nodes. When he lifts Steven's arms above his head, John can smell the stale odor of fever sweat, the way it changes as he smooths his hand across the armpits and down his sides, where the skin is soft and silky.

He visualizes a broken dam, scum and algae spilling out, leaving behind fresh, clean running water. John presses both hands to the sternum for a moment, before pushing down, down to his groin, again holding both hands still for only a moment over the pelvic bones.

John wrests Steven onto his front, before starting again at the neck, stroking and pushing on his back as he imagines the infection floating downstream. He concentrates on strengthening the lymphatic system, before putting his hands flat over the small of the back; holding them there until the heat is almost unbearable, willing the kidneys into overdrive to flush away the dying infection.

The Colonel won't be particularly happy that he's wet the bed, but John notes the clean, fresh sweat forming on Steven's back with satisfaction.

John cracks the door. "Carson? I could use your help." He holds up a finger as Elizabeth tries to follow him in.

Carson smells the urine as soon as he approaches the bed. "That'll make him cranky."

"Unfortunate side effect. Let's move him over to the clean bed. You might want to consider a catheter if he doesn't wake up soon, his kidneys are going to work overtime."

"Aye, that I can do."

They strip off the wet clothing and manhandle him over to the clean bed. Carson sets to work stripping the linens, while John pours a basin of water and wipes Steven clean. When he's through, John briefly lays a hand on Steven's chest to check how he's progressing before tugging a clean sheet over him. "He'll need a lot of water to flush his system out, so don't give him aspirin, or anything, even though his temperature's slightly elevated. The worst of it's over, but it will take a day or two for him to get through the rest of it on his own."

Carson slumps down into the chair. "Thank you, John. I don't know what it would do to Elizabeth if we were to lose Steven. Not that it's the only reason not to see him pass on, but she relies on him so heavily now."

John hears what Carson didn't say, 'since you left'. "Are you certain Elizabeth hasn't caught it?"

"There's no sign of it."

"I should at least check—we really don't want another epidemic."

"I agree. I'll call her in. Do you need me to leave?"

"No, I won't need to be quite so, uh, personal."

Carson flashes a grin at John's discomfort, and then opens the door. "Elizabeth, you may come in now."

"How is he?" she asks as she rushes towards the bed. She lays her hand on Steven's forehead, and tenderly touches his neck. "He's still got a fever."

"Yeah. He'll have one for the next day or two; it's okay."

Elizabeth relinquishes her hold on Steven and faces John. Her eyes are wide with relief and remorse. "Thank you, John. I know I didn't have any right to ask..."

"It's part of what I am now, people are sick, I fix 'em. Doesn't matter who they are."

"About that, I do honestly owe you an apology."

"Not necessary." John replies in a tight voice. His hands are clenched together behind his back; he can feel the tension across his shoulders. He takes a slow, even breath and tries to relax. He's had time to reflect in the last anam, and he doesn't need or want her apology; he's as guilty as Elizabeth for their cocked-up relationship.

"No, it's obvious that it is. You and Rodney were right. I did use you as a pawn, we desperately needed to make a place for ourselves here, and at the time, that was the most expedient course of action."

"If you'll recall, Elizabeth, I agreed to do it."

"True, but neither of us knew what that was going to mean. I didn't see or understand the ramifications of your journey—for me the viat was a lark, a chance to get to know the people, and forge relationships."

"I think it worked pretty well." John doesn't think it's a coincidence that the few people that traveled with them on the viat are mostly the best integrated.

"I agree. But I didn't see all of it, not even after Rania. I simply marked it as one more weird thing from Pegasus." Elizabeth's gaze is curious and expectant.

John just shrugs. "I get that."

Elizabeth sighs in exasperation. "I needed to know, John. I needed you to tell me what was going on. Not get it second hand from Rodney after the fact, not from you stealing a 302 and going cowboy in your usual fashion. If I'd had an inkling of what was truly happening, I would have at least tried to understand."

It was annoying that Elizabeth thought that he'd have been capable of opening up to her to reveal his most personal hurts; it wasn't like he'd ever given her any expectations in that in the past. "Maybe. To tell you the truth, I was kind of still working it out."

"I've often thought that over this last year. Regardless, I am sorry."

"I can accept that, but I can't apologize—I am what I am."

"And I can accept that. I hope that we can move forward from this."

Elizabeth, a diplomat to the end. John shrugs again, "We can try."

"Good." She says it as if it was all settled; perhaps it is, for her. She turns to check on Steven again.

John thinks he might have to work at it, but he's relieved that at least she appeared to be willing to understand. He tips his head a little as he looks at her, and he unconsciously rubs his palms together. "There's one more thing."

She turns her head to look at him. "What's that, John?"

"You know Caldwell was contagious. If I might, uh, take a look at you?"

"Oh. What do I need to do?" Elizabeth flushes, the color blooming on her cheeks and the tiny exposed vee of her chest.

"Just stand there." John steps in close to her. There's a faint remnant of flowery perfume, but underneath he can smell the sour odor of toxins in her sweat. He closes his eyes as he touches her chest and he can feel the swell of her breasts against his hand. She shivers slightly from the heat as he sends a questing wisp of power into her lungs. Yes, there it is, an infection just beginning to grow.

He unerringly places his hand on her jaw. Thank God she still favored the expedition t-shirts and slacks. "I'm just going to," he whispers as he slides his hand under her shirt. She shudders, and he can feel the goose bumps under his hand as he slides it into position on her back. He smiles slightly, and bumps into the clasp of her bra as slides his hand higher. "This is in the way," he whispers a warning as he deftly unhooks it with one hand. He feeds a strong pulse of power into her as he firmly strokes down her back three or four times.

John can feel her starting to sag and he gently guides Elizabeth to sit on the bed. He steps back after extricating his hand from under her shirt. There's a red palm print low on her jaw and neck, and she's slack and disheveled. He remembers exactly how she's feeling. "You'll be fine."

She startles at his comment, her hazel eyes wide with amazement, and begins to put herself back together. John turns to Carson to give her a little privacy. "You'll let me know if you need anything else?"

"Yes, we've got a few more other holdouts. I'll take a look at them, and if there's any sign, I'll quarantine them until I can reach you."

John knows that Carson would dearly love to be able heal with a touch, and that vague feeling of jealousy is a wedge between them, driving them apart, but Carson doesn't understand the cost that John unwittingly paid in exchange for the power.

"Okay, I'll stay in town a few days. You can catch me at Neela's, and I'll check in before I leave." He picks up his robe and leaves; he hadn't realized how difficult it would be to simply be in the same room with their resentment tangling with curiosity and fading affection. He's never been more certain that he'd made the right decision, grateful that he's escaped.

 

Day Eight Hundred Seventy Three

After a long hard run in the desert, John has a lazy breakfast with Neela and Laith before she shoos them out of the rememdium. Laith's subtly heading for the market, and John willingly follows him. He's given himself an unexpected holiday by promising Carson he'd stay in town, and other than a visit to Anbur, he has no plans.

John doesn't believe it when he sees it, but there it is right in front of him, a display of Expedition style clothing made from bright local cloth. The sample is heavily embroidered, but not in the traditional style—it's all recognizable Earth symbols and motifs.

Corporal Frostman steps outside the shop with a dress on a hanger as they're inspecting the jacket. "Oh, Colonel Sheppard. Welcome to Frosty's Fine Fashions!" He's wearing a particular garish rendition of the uniform done in stripes.

"Frostman, this is great. I though you hated that name?"

Laith waves at Frostman and wanders over to a stack of cloth samples.

"I do. Timmons started it as a joke, but then I couldn't shake it, so I gave in."

"Do you make all of this yourself?"

"Nah, I hired a couple of girls, they make all of it. I gave them my old uniform to take apart and they figured it out. I did design this though." He holds up what could be a medieval prom dress. "Cadman said she wanted it when I was done with it. These are all just samples, we tailor everything to fit."

"Very enterprising. How's it working out?"

"Pretty well, I've only been open a month or so, but everyone swears they're going to come in. Mostly the local people have been snapping them up like hotcakes. Labib—the landlord—thought it was a great idea, and we worked out an agreement, he gets a percentage instead of rent, and of course the ladies work for a percentage. I won't make much, but it's been fun. I like it."

"It's a great idea, Frostman. I hope it works out for you."

Laith rejoins John and Frostman. "This is all very beautiful, but strange to see your clothing in our textiles."

John adds, "It is strange, but kinda cool, too."

"Yeah, I'm trying to get the best of both worlds, you know? Would you like to order something?" There's a hopeful note in Frostman's voice, and John's between a rock and a hard place. He wants to encourage Frostman, support his fledgling business, but he can't figure out a nice way to decline. He can't buy anything; John doesn't carry money, hasn't had cash since his tiny pittance from Anbur ran out three anam ago. The things he needs are provided for him as gifts, he never asks for anything.

"Maybe tomorrow, we were just on our way to visit Anbur, he's expecting us."

Laith gives him a surprised look, and John elbows him with a 'shut up' look.

Frostman doesn't see the exchange; he's hanging the dress on a string tied to the wall. "That'd be great. It'd be like a walking billboard!"

John chuckles. "Oh yeah, just like that." The possibility of an arrangement is there, but he's just boxed himself in with the prevarication, though the haggling and negotiations can take days in the market place. Frostman will figure that out on his own. "So, good luck—I'll try and stop in tomorrow?"

"Thank you, Colonel. I'll see you then."

Laith waits until they're out of earshot before inquiring, "Why did you lie to him?"

"The culture that we're from, it's very different. There's no bargaining, and those who live on charity are usually seen as, well. Charity cases. It's hard to explain; Frostman expects a price for his goods, I can't just go and ask for something and not pay him."

"I don't understand. As healers, are we not repaid for our skills, and as Quaralyn, is it not our duty to see that you are cared for?"

"It's just that those are gifts, and I can live with that, but I'm not going to assume it's mine, by right."

"So you would rather the Quaralyn be kept behind a counter, grubbing for lamnats? Is that not demeaning to us all?"

John understands what Laith is saying, that it would be an insult to every person on the planet, if he were required to eek out a living; it is their duty to see that he's free to perform his duties, and while largely ceremonial, he does have responsibilities. "Not where we're from. An honest day’s work is almost always seen as a better thing than living on handouts, so Frostman might see it that way."

"I will have to pretend to understand, but you would be doing him a great service, to wear his clothing for all to see."

"Yeah, we might work something out. Let's go see Anbur so I'm not a complete liar."

 

Day Eight Hundred Seventy-Six

John's been loafing around N'vellesem for three days, and he hasn't heard a peep from Carson. Rather than go and visit the Quarter himself, he chose a random child playing in the street to go and tell Carson that he was going to take off, and they could catch him on the radio on his way over to visit Yusrah in Gadon.

He's just powered up the jumper, when he hears the one thing he given up on, never truly expected to hear.

"This is Colonel Davidson of the Odyssey, calling anyone aboard the Daedalus, I repeat Daedalus, come in. We have you on our scanners."

 

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