Story - Eternity: Ch. 3

[kriadydragon]

Mils was extra agitated today, with no good reason as far as John could tell. The cargo ships were off the piers and safe on the planet, no one had yet to try to intercept them on the way down, and once word came that unloading was complete, they were free for some planet-side downtime. But the way Mils couldn't stay in one spot for more than ten seconds, you'd think he knew something they didn't, and it was making him more of an ass than usual.

John pretended to ignore him by keeping his eyes on the long-range sensors. The smaller ships that always tried to follow them and take a few shots at the cargo liners during transition to the planet had long ago given up and headed out (no point in crippling an empty ship about to head home for repairs) but John felt any sudden move would have Mils jumping him for a good, venting clobber. Each time Mils passed John, the Evviakan... Evyakeena... Ev-something man (there was no pronouncing any species' name in this galaxy) made sure to clip his back or head with an elbow or shoulder.

“I hate this planet,” Mils muttered, going one more circuit. “Why do we always ship for them? They always gouge the prices. This cargo is worth twice what they are paying us to deliver it. They are stripping us bare!”

“Mils,” Mi'sia said, eyes glued to her data-tablet, “why do you not sit down and shut up.? They have a fixed fee, always have. Get over it.”

Mils slammed his foot into the nearest console base. “I will not get over it! Ge'kia should not have given them a fixed rate. They are using it against us to bring in higher priced cargo...”

John stopped reading the translator, letting Mils prattle on in rapid-fire, ineffective fury. This was the fourth time he'd gone on about fixed rates but the first time with this planet. The guy liked to take his anger out on anything and everything except on what was pissing him off.

When Mils' rant escalated to a no-win argument with Mi'sia – Mi'sia, as usual, taking it in unflappable stride – John slipped away. He was thinking of sitting this world out. The locals had the stomach of Komodo dragons and the “safe foods” had left him with indigestion for four days. So went the ways of evolution, he supposed. Not just for a single planet, but an entire galaxy. He'd come to figure that it wasn't always about toxins, bacterias or tough skins that made his diet so limited, but possibly vitamins and minerals that his body didn't know what to do with. It really was a miracle he hadn't starved to death yet, or dropped dead from bad fruit.

John entered his room, shucking his jacket and tossing it onto the bed. His intent was a quick shower, and he had the hem of his T-shirt in his hands ready to tug up when the door whispered open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see the light highlighting the edges of Veeni's shape. Releasing his shirt, he moved toward her, translator screen held out.

“I'm going to be sitting this one out, Veen,” he said. “I -” He was cut off when Veeni's body slammed him to the floor, knocking the air from his lungs and sending the translator sliding. Veeni hissed and spit, tugging and clawing John's shirt to ribbons. John grabbed her wrist, shoving back against her pushing forward, her back claws digging into his calves. He twisted his body, flipping them to land her on her back with him on top.

“Veeni, what the hell!”

Veeni smiled wide around her serrated teeth and snaked her blood-red tongue over her lips. Then she head-butted him. John lurched back onto his ass giving her room to surge forward in another pounce that landed him flat. Front claws raked cloth and skin while the claws of one foot curled into the waist of his pants and pulled, pricking his hip. John got a second grip on her wrists and squeezed.

“Veeni, get the hell off me! Veeni!” When she licked his face from jaw to hairline, he’d had enough and head-butted her back then shoved her away with a boot to the chest. He scrabbled out from under her and away until his back hit his bed then shuffled sideways within reach of his 9-mil on the night stand.

A dazed Veeni rolled onto all fours with a rustling shake of her mane. She didn't look pissed. Hell, she looked ecstatic, giggling and bouncing, completely oblivious to the weapon aimed at her face. When she did finally realize what was being pointed at her, she pouted. “You're no fun,” then bounded away on all fours out the door.

John didn't know how long he sat there keeping the gun trained on the door, only lowering it when his arm became too heavy to stay up. Adrenaline, confusion, and fear turned him hypersensitive and taut as a guitar string. He could smell blood and sweat, hear his heart pounding and feel the blood trace hot down his skin.

“What the hell was that?” he breathed. He'd known Veeni for almost a year now, and in all that time the most hostile she'd ever got toward him was to huff, fold her arms, and not speak to him for a whole five minutes.

Not try to tear into him like a lion ripping into a gazelle.

“What the hell...”

“John? Veeary nimitia?”

John looked up at Mi'sia standing in the door, her eyebrows arched in mild alarm. When she moved toward him, he didn't think about it when he shrank back because nothing was safe anymore if normally congenial alien girls got appetites for human flesh from out of the blue.

Mi'sia, reacting to his painfully obvious distress, slowed, keeping her palms held out. She chattered soothingly, veering to the side to grab his translator then holding it out when she crouched in front of him.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” she said. When John, after a minute of hesitation, snatched the device, Mi'sia backed far enough away to rise without startling him. She grabbed his backpack by the dresser and pulled the first-aid kit. Instead of handing it to him, she placed it on the floor and slid it his way.

John grabbed it without taking his eyes from her, stiffening when she positioned herself adjacent to him, just out of arm's reach, and returned to a crouch.

“This was an accident,” she said.

John's hand froze over the vial of antibiotic. He gaped, incredulous and disgusted. “Accident?” He coughed up a laugh. “You call Veeni trying to eat me an accident?”

Mi'sia's amber eyes rolled. “She was not trying to eat you. She was trying to mate with you. Veeni is in season.”

Incredulity became complete shock. “She's in heat?”

“If that is what you call it when a creature is ready to reproduce? Then yes, she is in heat.”

It took a moment for John's brain to wrap around the concept and remind himself of “different galaxy, different species, different rules.” He would admit it – he'd stepped into the cornucopia of alien lifeforms with the subconscious bias of every humanoid playing by humanoid rules and was still in the process of being conditioned even after a year.

But what Veeni had just done... “Mating with me? She tried to tear me up to get in my pants?”

“Yes.”

Shaking his head, John's hand finished its journey to the vial. “Crap, hope the poor bastard she does ravage survives it.”

“It is rare for the call to be so savage, but it does happen. There are cuts and bruises, no deaths. Unless... you fight back.” Mi'sia tilted her head to one side. “Obviously, you fought back.”

John injected the antibiotic using the hypospray. “Yeah, well... I thought she was trying to eat me.”

“And if you knew that she wasn't? If you knew that she was merely in season, would you have let her continue?”

John pressed his lips together to prevent a grimace. He hated questions like that, leaving him damned if he said yes and damned if he said no. Because if they weren't head games, they were tests, and answering with what he thought was the wiser response for the situation either left him laughed at or in the dog house.

The fact was, John was a guy, but guys had their limits, and he'd never been a fan of one-night-stands or animal passion. And he had no clue how to explain that.

Dabbing at the cuts on his chest with an alcohol wipe, ignoring the stings, he racked his brain.

“Well, you've gotta understand,” he began, hoping he'd figure it out along the way, “my kind... the females... There isn't a set time we have to mate. This isn't something I'm used to.”

“So is that a no?” Mi'sia asked.

“To be perfectly honest,” John said, shrugging, “I'm pretty sure I still would have pushed her off.” He looked at Mi'sia, who had shifted position to bring her knees up so she could rest her chin on them. She pursed her lips contemplatively.

John gave her a timid smile. “Does, uh... does your kind... come into season?” Any other time, he would have been a lot more hesitant about prying into the personal matters – mating habits especially – of another species, but he wasn't taking any more chances.

Mi'sia shook her head. “My kind mate with one for life.”

John relaxed. “Oh. That's... good to know.”

“I would imagine,” she said. “Do you need any help?”

John shook his head. The scratches were superficial, and most had already stopped bleeding. “No, I'm good.” Veeni had shredded his shirt good, one side hanging down to his elbow, exposing pale chest and stomach. He really needed to get out in the sun more.

“What about your kind?” Mi'sia asked. “Do they mate for life?”

John couldn't help a sardonic snort. “Depends on who you talk to.” At her slightly perplexed look, he added. “Some do, some don't, some don't even try.”

“Did you try?”

Good crap, the woman did like the hard questions. John looked at her, studying her, searching for any indication that this was a mind game and that she was slowly trying to back him into a corner. Her expression, however, radiated only pure curiosity.

“Once,” he said, looking back at her after reading the translator. “I wasn't good at it.”

“You did not try very hard then. Or she did not.”

John bristled at that, throwing down one bloody alcohol pad and grabbing another. “That's a pretty quick assessment from someone who hadn't been there to know what the hell happened.” Not that John could say, with precise certainty, let alone a single sentence, what the hell had happened.

Mi'sia rocked back and forth on her heels like a teenage girl idly spreading gossip. “What did happen?”

“What makes you think it's any of your business?” John snapped.

Mi'sia's shrug was nonchalant. “A bonding will only work if you make it work. If you want it to work. If it does not work then it was because you did not do what was needed to make it work.”

John shook his head. “It's not that easy.”

“No,” Mi'sia said. “It is not. It is difficult. But it can be worth the difficulty. I thought I hated my mate, but when he died, I was unhappy for a long time. I had once believed I would be happy if he was gone. We fought, but we cared for each other, and he would sometimes do things that he knew would make me happy. Not always, but he tried. I still miss him, sometimes. Do you still miss your former mate?”

Licking his lips uneasily, John looked down at the first aid kit. “Yeah, sometimes. Look, no offense, but this isn't something I really like talking about. Stuff happened, we drifted apart, and that's all I'm going to say. It's not unusual for that to happen among my kind. In fact, it's pretty common. Some people... they just don't work out. Doesn't mean I didn't care about her. I did. We just... we just didn't work.”

Again he had to remind himself – different galaxy, different rules. Mi'sia wasn't trying to bait him; she was just curious. It didn't make it any easier to keep from getting pissed at her because he'd never stopped wondering what he could have done to make things better between him and Nancy, to make it work. He would only stop remembering to wonder.

The silence that settled around them was thick, though Mi'sia didn't show any indication that she had been insulted, nor did she act abashed.

John sighed, feeling the need to make amends anyway. “I miss specifics. Her smile, laugh, friendship, stuff like that. It's not... overwhelming or anything, but it's not gone, either.”

Mi'sia's nod was sage. “I did not mean to pry so deep. I needed to understand, to have something to use when I talk with Veeni. Not that it will change her way of thinking. She is not an open-minded one, Veeni.”

John chuffed. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out a couple of months ago.”

Mi'sia's lips quirked in a small smile then her eyes dropped to his chest, her head tilting to one side. “We need to feed you better. That is not a healthy look for you.”

John furrowed his brow. “Look?”

When Mi'sia scooted closer, John tensed. She stopped and leaned forward, pinching the skin over his visible ribs. “I do not think it common for your kind’s bones to protrude like this?”

John scowled at that. Yes, he was a lot leaner than normal and, yes, on his body it wasn't exactly a healthy look, but he wasn't emaciated or starving. He still had muscle enough to kick some ass, or he would have been Veeni's bitch by now. Speaking of the horny one...

“So, um, where is Veeni, anyways?”

“Mils is,” Mi'sia grinned conspiratorially, “preoccupying her.”

“Veeni and Mils? I thought you just said your kind mated for life?”

“We do,” she said. “It does not mean the ones we bond with share the same manner of thinking.”

John's jaw fell open with too many questions racing through his mind to allow a single question to come though. Veeni and Mils. Yet Veeni always liked to... but Mils never...? No wonder the guy was so pissed off all the time.

“Didn't know Mils was the sharing type,” he said instead.

“There is not much else he can do about it,” said Mi'sia, “if he does not want Ge'kia to fire him for killing off most of the ships' crews.”

John shook his head, chuckling. “That is messed up.”

Mi'sia smiled. “Mils has never been one I would call intelligent. Come,” she added as she stood. “Get cleaned up. It is time to put more food into you.”

John took her hand and let her pull him to his feet.

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John didn't think Mi'sia had been oblivious to his food situation – she would've had to have been blind and deaf. He also didn't think she'd finally come around to being practical and taking the company's welfare to heart by considering John's welfare. That left pity, and as much as it irked him, a smaller part of him was thankful for it. Mi'sia not only took over ordering food for him, she took it seriously.

Mi'sia made a list of edibles and inedibles, putting John in awe of her photographic memory (she recalled the blue plum things from four months ago giving him stomach cramps, but not the yellow plum things). She went so far as to put foods under a microscope, compare common traits of the ones that made him sick and the ones that didn't, and gather her findings in a notebook John gave her. All John had to do was scroll the translator over the symbols to read it.

It made John feel a little like the crew's mascot... or pet... once neglected, now being properly cared for after one of the crew finally coming to acknowledge the neglect. There were still issues – not enough vitamins and minerals in certain foods or too many alien vitamins and minerals making the food hard to digest – but he had yet to puke, cramp or anything else, and he was more lean and less gaunt.

Mils was still an ass but a tolerant ass. He continued eying John like a rival male, just without all the shoulder clipping as though hoping to eventually incite the fight that would establish dominance. It still surprised, and amused, John that it had never been about the crew’s hierarchy but about Mil's having a hard-core swinger for a mate.

Veeni was different, more aloof, less chatty, and John couldn't say if it was because of Mi'sia taking over Sheppard-feeding duties, or him having put a halt to her mating ritual with him. He was leaning toward the latter as Veeni wasn't a girl who took no for an answer in stride.

Other than that, John's status didn't change. Mi'sia was still quiet, Rith a practical mute, Mils a jerk and, despite the spite, Veeni continued to enjoy rubbing his hair and slipping food onto his plate that made him gag.

As long as he could eat three square meals a day without suffering for it, he didn't care. Routine, transmissions of old radio and TV programs from earth, and visiting strange alien world after strange alien world kept him occupied and content. And, sometimes, if she was in the mood, he and Mi'sia had a few brief conversations, mostly about the differences or similarities of their societies. For example, it wasn't unheard of for Mi'sia's kind to have affairs. However, it was rare, as the laws allowed for the one being cheated on to have their mate “desexed” if they so wished.

Another year came and went according to the calendar on John's laptop. The day of Ronon's death landed on a drop-off run, one that forced the crew planet-side to settle a price dispute, giving John no time to clean up and get into his dress blues. Mils' hovercraft wasn't space worthy so John had to drive them, and he packed the tea-set along for the ride. The place where they stayed had three rooms with two beds each, and a lounge with a cold stone floor, a few padded chairs and a glass table.

John went ahead and sat on the floor. Veeni crouched in the corner like a cat, watching him pour the tea.

“What's this again?” she asked. “Some kind of ceremony for the dead?”

“Remembrance ceremony,” John said, and lifted the translator over his shoulder for her to read.

Veeni rose, arched, and sauntered over to Mils stretched out in a blue padded chair, reading a data-tablet. She sprawled in his lap wrapping her arms possessively around his neck.

“To remember what?” she said, nuzzling Mils' shoulder.

“A friend,” John said. “He died saving my life... a lot of people's lives. This is to honor him.”

Mils, looking away from the tablet to read the translator and join the conversation, barked a grim laugh. “What does he care if you honor him? He is dead.”

Veeni tugged on Mils' arm. “Come on, I want to go out, have some fun. John's ceremony is depressing.” She hopped from his lap and pulled him to his feet and toward the door. Their path brought them past the tray that Mils bumped with the heel of his boot, rattling cups and sloshing tea over the rim.

“The dead do not care about anything,” he said, “so no point in caring about the dead. Forget the dead, they mean nothing.”

John rose, glaring venomously, not caring if Mils took it as the challenge he'd been waiting for. The other man paused, rigid and anticipatory, only to have Veeni come around to the front and shove him out the door with a whining wheedle about Mils having a good brawl when they were out on the streets where she could take bets.

As soon as they were gone, John dropped back to the floor, heart pounding and anger making his blood scrape his veins. This was why he should have waited. One man's method of honoring and reinforcing the memories of a lost friend through the endless years ahead was another man's idea of a pathetic display of clinging to a long-gone past.

He could almost see Ronon shaking his head - Should have kicked his ass - and the anger slowly drained from John as he straightened out the cups.

“Sorry, buddy.”

A soft rustle of cloth made him glance up, and he jumped to see Mi'sia sitting cross-legged across from him, studying the earthen-ware tea-set like it was for sale and she was contemplating buying it.

“This ceremony, can anyone take part?” she asked.

“Why?” John said, and didn't mean for it to come out sounding so defensive. But indulging someone's curiosity had a limit. He knew he should have waited until they were back on Atlantis, even if it meant performing the ceremony a day late. There were some things he didn't want this new “team” to know about, things they wouldn't even try to understand. His fingers twitched to pull the tray out of Mi'sia's reach.

The ever unflappable Mi'sia shrugged. “I like the idea of not compromising.”

John narrowed his eyes. “How is this not compromising?”

Mi'sia's slender fingers fiddled with the hem of her sleeveless gray shirt. It was the first time John had ever seen her remotely subdued, and it made her seem younger. She stared at the tea-set, and after a minute of doing so, a small smile played at her lips.

“It is silly,” she said, dropping her gaze to her hands. When not pushing a sarcastic tone, her language was very fluid, almost musical. “I could tell you did not want to do this here, in front of us. It seems like such a small thing. Unimportant, but you make it important enough to do in front of us, even though you do not want to. I like that.”

A little of John's tension, and his suspicion, eased from him. “You don't have important things... uh, sacred things you do?”

“In order to do what needs to be done,” she replied, “you start to set things aside. Important things you come to believe are not really that important, sacred things that make no difference in your life. You make sacrifices and think it is for the best with no reason to believe otherwise. I just... I like that, maybe, it does not always have to be that way. That, if it is important enough – sacred - you find a way to keep it.”

John arched his head back, uncomfortable though he couldn't explain why. “Well... I wouldn't call it sacred, per se... Important, yeah, but... not really sacred, I guess...” He felt like he was putting his foot in his mouth, and could imagine Teyla's heavy-lidded eye-roll and sigh so clearly, he could almost feel her warm breath gliding across his cheek.

Taking her own deep breath, Mi'sia shook her head as though shaking away childish thoughts. “How is this performed?”

The last of John's uncertainty melted from him until he was able to smile. “The one who lost someone is served the tea.”

Mi'sia poured and handed him the cup. When John drank, he set it down and served Mi'sia.

“To my friend and brother,” John said, “who died to save us all.” They both drank, finishing off the tea.

“That is all?” Mi'sia asked.

John nodded, taking both cups and setting them back on the tray. “That's all.”

“Very simple, quiet. I like that too. I am more accustomed to larger events full of too much noise.”

“I've never been big on any kind of ceremony,” John said, circling his thumb along the rim of a cup. “It was a friend of mine who introduced us... me... to it. Well, another friend, who told me about it because she was having a hard time and he thought all of us taking part might cheer her up. Anyways, it kind of became our little tradition.” Which, in a way, did make it sacred. The motions of a ceremony meant nothing without the memories they forced you to recall. John would self-destruct the city before he forgot, and he sure as hell wasn't going share those memories with a group who thought you were better off leaving the dead behind like they never existed.

Mi'sia changed position, bringing her legs up so she could rest her arms on her knees. “Nearly two cycles of being around you and I have never asked why you were alone on such a large ship.”

“I assumed you didn't really care about finding out.”

“I didn't,” she said then smiled. “I do now.”

“Why?” No suspicion this time, he was genuinely curious to know.

“Because you lasted longer than I thought you would. What happened to your people? Why are you alone?”

John shook his head. “Nothing happened to them. At least... I hope nothing happened to them. There were some bad... um, people... doing some bad things. My ship, Atlantis – where I come from, it's pretty damn powerful. So powerful that if these groups had gotten their hands on it, we were screw... I mean, we were in trouble. They'd managed to get another ship like it, repaired it, and it took everything we had and more to stop them. So, to keep them from getting any part of Atlantis, I took it where they would never be able to find it.”

Mi'sia tilted her head to one side, veiling her pale shoulder behind a curtain of fake, pink hair. “That must have been difficult.”

John lifted the cup inches from the tray to roll between his palms. “I did what I had to do. Of course, I didn't think I'd live as long as I have. I was sure that if I didn't starve to death first or get eaten, I'd at least die of old age.”

Mi'sia's head tilted the other way, and her brow furrowed. “That's not possible?”

John returned her confused look until, with a start, he realized what he'd just off-handedly confessed. It wasn't as though his forever-young existence was something to keep secret but more something he didn't think should be brought up in casual conversation.

Too late now. “Well, um... no, actually. Not for me, at any rate. The first civilization I ran into, one of their people did something to me. Made it so I wouldn't age. I mean, I can still die if something bad happens to me. I just won't be kicking the bu... um, dying of old age any time soon, or ever.”

Mi'sia's amber eyes widened perfectly round. “The Vehi'esssasssa'an gave you the k'iant'aattthhh serum? They give that to no one but their own kind.”

John set the cup down hastily in order to clasp his hand together. “She thought she was doing me a favor.”

“A favor? It is a great hon -”

“I know,” John snapped then breathed deep, calming himself. “It's a great honor, I know.”

“You did not want it,” Mi'sia stated.

“She didn't consider all the facts,” John said. “There's going home, then there's going home. And I can't go home, ever. I can go back, maybe, in a thousand years. Plenty of time for things to change in a thousand years. But I can't go home... does that make sense?”

“Very much sense,” Mi'sia assured.

John's shoulders sagged. “I never intended to ever go back home. But I kind of gave her the impression I did. She thought she was doing right by me in giving me that stuff. It was supposed to be a surprise. And, boy, was I surprised, just not the kind of surprise she was hoping for.”

Mi'sia did another tilt of her head, like an inquisitive bird. “She was cruel.”

John balked and stiffened. “What? No. She didn't do it to be mean... she was just trying to help.”

“One does not have to be mean to be cruel. Good intentions can end badly. What she did to you was cruel. She gave you false hope. She should have asked.”

John unclasped his hands to scrub his face one handed. “I know. That's what I said, but it doesn't make what she did cruel. She was naïve, didn't think things through.”

Mi'sia sighed sharply. “Of course not. The Vehi'esssasssa'an never do. They are the most intelligent of the all worlds, but.... not the smartest. Does that make sense?”

John, dropping his hand into his lap, smiled wanly. “Yeah, it makes perfect sense.”

“They think they know best because they know so much when many times they know nothing at all. You are an example of that. What was done to you was cruel, and that is the end of the matter.”

John wasn't going to continue arguing with her. She was probably right, to an extent, but to agree with her would be the pot calling the kettle black. He'd seen too much bad done in the name of good, taken part in too many mistakes, to be throwing any kind of judgment at Eekala. Besides, he'd already made it clear to her and himself that he didn't hold it against her.

“How old are you then?” Mi'sia asked. Despite most of their previous conversations being stilted, he'd grown accustomed to her blunt questions pretty quick.

“Somewhere in my fifties, I think.” He spread his fingers around his head. “This should be all gray by now.”

“Fifty cycles?” said Mi'sia in amusement. “That is young.”

John's body stiffened. “Young? How the hell old are you, then?”

“One-hundred and two cycles. That is full adulthood among my kind.”

John grinned. “Cool.” She looked pretty damned smooth-skinned and spry for one-hundred and two. He'd initially put her age to be somewhere in her thirties.

They talked until Veeni and Mils stumbled in drunk, giggling, and promiscuous, heading straight to their room to satisfy their urges. Rith arrived later, also drunk, but surly about it, grumbling as he stumbled into the room he shared with John. Only then did John and Mi'sia turn in themselves, because when Rith came home – Mi'sia said – you knew it was late.

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Mi'sia continued being social to John more than she ever had since they'd met. It was like a game: he tells her something about his world, and she tells him something about hers and other worlds she had been to. John showed her Earth movies, and she showed him recorded films from three different worlds. Neither versions made sense to the other, even with thorough explanations, but they were fun to mock. Mi'sia was quick-witted with a sharp tongue, and if the jokes didn't make sense, the delivery – slowed as it was by the translator - still made John laugh.

She was also a fast learner. To make conversation easier between them, she would study the translator over John's shoulder no matter who he was talking to, and, little by little, picked up on his language. She started using many of his more common phrases - like cool, awesome, excellent, even dude – as well as certain swears like damn, hell and ass (she liked using asshole when referring to Mils). John tried to return the favor by learning her language, managed to get a handle on the smaller words, but for the most part butchered the language. Not that he quit trying; he was too stubborn to give up.

When a conversation about entertainment led to talk about Ferris wheels and roller coasters, Mi'sia started taking him to local “hot-spots” for fun on Xen or whatever world they happened to be near. There were chambers where you could float in anti-grav, clubs, places like arcades where you played games to win prizes, and places like casinos. One planet had a system of caves you explored by swimming through a natural pool of heated water made pale blue by glowing lichens. There were gardens, zoos, fairs and even a carnival – a freakin' carnival – with rides and games and freak-shows and food (most of which John couldn't eat.)

John thought nothing would top the alien carnival. Then Mi'sia took him into the deeper levels of the city and an arena of giant screens showing streamlined ships like jets and stealth bombers lined up in front of a single row of yellow lights. When the lights flashed red, the ships took off at speeds blurring the buildings they whipped past as they wove, taking tight, impossible turns. Ships turning too sharp or too soon skidded off the green shielding protecting the buildings then bounced like a pinball and pin-wheeled out of sight into the darkness.

It was the most dangerous, most exciting thing John had ever seen. His heart was still pounding even when it was over and they were heading out, moving with the flow of the crowd.

“So, uh, how does one participate in something like that?” John casually asked.

“Ge'kia will not let you.” Mi'sia said.

“What Ge'kia doesn't know won't hurt him.”

She patted his chest. “I will not let you. I do not want to go back to piloting that heap Ge'kia calls a ship if you die. Atlantis is much more comfortable. Not to mention it smells better.”

“Fine,” John mock-pouted. “So, where to now?”

“You are not tired, yet?”

“Not even close.”

Mi'sia patted his shoulder. “Good, because I am hungry, and I know a place even you can eat without getting sick.”

John let her link her arm through his and lead the way back to the upper levels.

After dinner, Mi'sia took the liberty of returning John to Atlantis. She lingered even when he was off the transport, staring at him considerately, and whatever she was considering had her troubled according to the tightness at the corner of her eyes.

John stared back, suddenly uneasy. “What?” he asked with a light chuckle to hide the fact.

Mi'sia's face quickly composed itself back to neutral. She smiled, shook her head, and started the craft.

“Nothing,” she said and left before John could cajole the truth out of her.

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When Veeni wasn't in a touchy/feely mood, one would think she and Mils barely knew each other. But then John didn't think Mils had bonded with Veeni for the conversation. The man was high maintenance when it came to his self-esteem, and John had spotted him once or twice paying the Fight-club prostitutes so he could preen in the aftermath of establishing dominance among a swooning crowd of females.

Mi'sia promised it was nothing more than a poor personality trait, not the mind-set of the entire male population of her species.

Mils’ hot-hotheadedness and Veeni's unabashed flirting actually made for a pretty good team when it came to dealing with stubborn customers. Mi'sia stipulated the prices, while Mils haggled with threats and Veeni with batting-eyes and pouting lips. Rith would stand in the back, silent and dangerous, and it worked.

There were ten companies on ten planets where it was a certainty that days were needed to work out pricing, which meant staying planet-side in cheap “temp-homes” (as Mi'sia called them). The only planet that John looked forward to staying on was the “Hawaiian” world where every temp-house balcony offered a view of gold beach or stretch of emerald forest.

Today, they were lucky to get a view of the beach. John brought his surfboard and showed Mi'sia how to ride the smaller waves. As usual, she was a fast learner, and John wouldn't to be surprised if by tomorrow she was cutting through bigger waves. When Rith gave it a try, he lasted about two seconds before he was pin-wheeling his arms and tumbling off. Veeni had no desire to get her fur wet, and Mils had no desire to do anything beyond rolling around with Veeni or paying to beat the crap out of someone.

When evening came, John and Mi'sia sat out on the balcony while the air was still warm to keep Mi'sia from lethargy. They'd bought dinner on coming home, and the remains were scattered between them.

“John,” Mi'sia said – John no longer had to use the translator with her. She spoke a descent amount of English, right down to the contractions, with a light lilting accent that sometimes sounded vaguely Italian.

“Yeah?” John said, popping something like a red potato wedge into his mouth.

“Let's bond.”

John inhaled sharply and choked, “What?”

“Bond. I think we should bond.”

It took a moment of coughing and sputtering before he could talk clearly, and the word he blurted without thinking was a rather panicked, “Why?”

Mi'sia shrugged, her nonchalance seeming forced for once. “I think we should.” She looked him straight in the eye. “You should not have to be alone, John. And I...” she cleared her throat, letting her eyes wander, “I like being with you.” When her gaze returned, John recognized the awkwardness and discomfort of someone who would happily say anything as long as it had nothing to do with the way they were feeling.

John could absolutely sympathize and felt his own unease like an expanding knot in his chest.

“You don't have to say yes,” Mi'sia continued hurriedly, “it won't change anything. But, I think at this point, there is nothing to lose and everything to gain. Right?”

John couldn't agree with that. “There's plenty to lose. Your friendship, for one, if it doesn't work out.”

“You make it work out,” she solidly said. “And you won't lose my friendship, I promise you that.”

Now it was John's turn to avert his eyes to the dark ocean capped in silver and red moonlight. He could hear the breathy rush of its waves rolling over the shore and smell metallic salt.

“I'm not good at it. I wasn't the first time,” he said, feeling ungainly as a teenager, “and I don't know where it went wrong. Well, I do, actually, I just can't figure out where it started to go wrong. Besides,” he looked toward her without looking at her, still unable to meet her gaze, “I...” don't want to be with someone I'm going to outlive, someone else I'll have to leave behind.

But a part of him whispered how that was a lie because a part of him didn't care. He finally looked at Mi'sia, and saw no disappointment or worry or hope or dread. She was resigned to whatever answer he gave. He could see in her eyes words being sifted, gathering the right ones that would persuade him, untouched by girlish hopes that would only hurt if unfulfilled. Mi'sia was as realistic as they came – as realistic as Ronon had been, and Teyla, and Rodney when not exaggerated by fretting.

She wanted this, while fully prepared not to receive it. The thing was, John also wanted it. He'd seen eternity and its endless darkness and solitude, and it had scared him senseless. If being with Mi'sia was two seconds out of the infinity of his immortality then it was two seconds he would wrap himself in - two seconds of eternity being tolerable.

He finally looked at Mi'sia. “Would this be a marriage of convenience, then?” he asked even if it did sound a little harsh to his ears. He sometimes used to think asking Nancy to marry him a matter of convenience. One of those ideas that had been good at the time, going more with logic rather than heart, and possibly even influenced by doing what would win approval from those who rarely approved of anything in his life.

And if that was the case now, John couldn't do it, two seconds of tolerant eternity or not.

“No,” Mi'sia said with easy conviction. “It will be a bonding of friendship that will become more than friendship.” She scooted closer to him, enough to reach out and place her hand on his knee. Her eyes never left his, and he let them hold him in place. “It doesn't matter what happened before. It will work if we want it to.”

“And if it doesn't?” John asked.

“Then we go on as before. But at least it is there when we need it.”

She made it sound so easy, and it joined with the side of him that wanted this, the side of him that felt like he belonged to this galaxy whenever he was around her.

You'll regret this when she grows old and dies, and you never do.

John didn't care. He'd always been the kind of guy who preferred living in the now.

Smiling, he took her hand into his. “Yeah, I'll bond with you.”

He was okay with being a selfish bastard this time around.

---------------------------------

The bonding ceremony was performed on Xen by Ge'kia. John had asked if she wanted to go to her home world, but Mi'sia had no desire to put up with the disapproving looks over bonding outside her species (made even more frowned upon by John being a warm blood). It was a simple ceremony, John wearing his dress blues that were fading and fraying around the cuffs, and Mi'sia a simple sleeveless dress of shimmering midnight blue. They clasped wrists, vows of making each other's lives better than they were and seeking no other's company were made, then they embraced. They went back to “Hawaii” world for personal time, Mi'sia taking the larger waves like a pro when they surfed.

When they returned to Atlantis, John found himself leaning in the doorway of Rodney's room.

“You were right, McKay,” he said with a smile, “I guess I really am Kirk.”

------------------------------------

To Chapter four...

Comments

[negolith2.livejournal.com]

John really is too damn stubborn for his own good sometimes. It's like he has a pathological need to be unhappy, but you can see the logic behind it. Gahhh.

[drufan.livejournal.com]

"because when Rith came home – Mi'sia said – you knew it was late."

That is a great line.

Marvelous chapter, and he's not Kirk because he would have rolled around with Squirrel Girl!

[reen212000.livejournal.com]

You are freakin' killin' me. This is wonderful!

But you are still making me sad.
:p

[kazbaby]

Okay, I just have to stop at the end of this part and let you know that everything to do with Mi'sia asking John to bond and then ceremony has me in tears (which almost happened with the Remembrance Ceremony. What really hit me and made the tears come was John in his frayed uniform and then him saying that one line at the end in Rodney's room.

Fuck this story is so damn good. *rushes off to the next part*