Rating: G
Characters: Miko, Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla, Mckay
Summary: Miko does not consider herself a woman of faith. Though everyone plays a part, I kind of consider this a bit of a Miko/sheppard friendship peice. Huge, massive thanks to
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wildcat88 for the beta. Her help was much needed.A/N: Just a little idea that crawled into my brain and wouldn't leave until it was written.
Paper Cranes
The first time Miko uses the space bridge is when she is relayed an urgent summons from Earth to return home immediately. Her parents and sister have something to tell her and wish to tell her face to face. Miko steps through the 'gate with many others and passes the time in quarantine by thinking only good thoughts concerning what the news could be.
Her sister has been accepted into the most prestigious ballet company. Her sister is now some fortunate man's fiancée. Her sister has finally landed a job as a choreographer.
Miko cannot say that she and Kimico are close, not the way other siblings will: “My sister/brother was my best friend. We were inseparable.” That is not who they were, and that is not who they now are. Miko has her world of science - of physics, astrophysics, molecules and atoms - while Kimico lives a life of the senses: music and color and motion. They had their separate interests, separate friends, separate everything.
But what makes a sibling is not blood alone. They had their small connections, things that had once seemed so unimportant that had been theirs and theirs alone. They both loved classical music. They both found beauty in what most could not see – Kimico the smooth texture of a flower and Miko its complicated structure pieced together like a puzzle to form that flawless texture. And they both envied what the other could do.
When the world became too vast, too wild, too much chaos for Kimico, she would look through one of Miko's microscopes and see that there was still order. When the world shrank to basic structures that pulled Miko in and threatened to never let her go, there was Kimico's dancing and paintings to remind Miko that everything, everyone, was more than just the sum of their parts.
They are two ends of a magnet – so opposite and yet a perfect fit.
So when Miko walks through the door of their family home in Japan and sees the sorrow on her sister's face, her heart sinks to the bottom of her feet.
“Leukemia. But the doctors are hopeful. They believe they have caught it in time.” When Kimico's eyes turn watery with tears, she wraps long and slender fingers around Miko's smaller hands. They are warm and, when they squeeze, are gentle, as though Miko is the one in need of comfort. “I am so sorry, sister. I am so sorry I called you here just to hear this. You do not deserve this.”
Miko nearly pulls her hand away. She does not deserve this? She who is healthy and strong? It is typical of Kimico, she has to remind herself, to make right any distress even when the cause was not her doing. She is not one to please people. She is one to make peace and hates to see anyone unhappy. That is also the world she lives in.
Anger burns hot in Miko, but she does not know how to be aggressive and does not want to be. Anger solves nothing; it creates only more hurt. So, instead, she leans forward and wraps her arms around her sister, holding on tight, never letting go if it were possible.
Miko is tempted to resign and be there for her sister, but Kimico will not have it. Days pass that feel like only minutes, and then it is time to go. There is nothing Miko can do on Earth.
In Pegasus, on Atlantis, there might be something: a device, a drug, a plant. She knows of the plants in botany that have chemical properties that can cure cancer, and she becomes like a fly, buzzing with questions that the botanists answer though it is hard to miss their increasing annoyance at the constant interruption. They eventually steer her in the direction of medical where she is quickly dismissed when they say they are still creating a workable drug from the plants and so far have not been able to come up with anything where the side effects are not worse than the disease being cured.
Not that Miko gives up. She will never give up. Yet neither is there much more she can do beyond making a nuisance of herself with all her questions.
It is how she finds herself folding paper cranes as she waits for the completion of a diagnostic scan on some new device discovered in the bowels of the city. Someone needs to keep an eye on it for unexpected anomalies as well as to get the results immediately to Dr. McKay when it is finished. And there is paper next to the laptop, a short stack of it, plain white. She takes a piece, folds it and tears it to form a square, then folds again. She knows the story – fold a thousand cranes in a year and you will have good fortune. Miko has never pondered matters of faith and belief, religion a tradition that made her parents happy and came with fun stories. But her sister, who sees the world in color, music and motion, is more accepting of the things that cannot be explained except through myth and magic. And she likes birds.
If anything, the gesture alone will bring Kimico comfort. It is something, and something is always better than nothing.
Miko calculates it in her head – folding five cranes a day will create more than a thousand by the end of the year. Folding twenty cranes will create more than a thousand within two months. So that becomes her goal: twenty birds a day for more than a thousand in two months. So much can change in two months, but so much more can change in a year.
Unfortunately, life does not wish to accommodate her. She is lucky to manage at least five birds – if any – a day before she is called to complete some other task. Some days she folds no birds. Other days, she folds them, only to leave without thinking to take them and return to find them gone. She is up to ten birds by the end of the week, and it makes her heart break a little.
When the new week begins, she takes every spare second to fold a crane and remembers to take them with her. She also takes any and every opportunity to volunteer for those tasks that allow her to sit and do little more than observe. She's good at multi-tasking, folding and watching, folding and watching, but only when Dr. McKay is out of the room or else he snaps at her to set her “hobby” aside and do her job. He's not being cruel, she knows; he just wants her to be thorough.
She is up to twenty cranes by the middle of the week and is folding number twenty-one as she watches a simulation for Dr. McKay who has stepped out.
“Paper cranes?”
Miko jumps, then jumps again when she turns enough to see that it is Colonel Sheppard peering over her shoulder at her creation.
She stammers, “Uh, yes. To pass the time. Are you looking for Dr. McKay? He is out getting something to eat.”
Colonel Sheppard's eyes never leave the crane when he says, “Thought as much. Guess I gotta wait until he gets back. Trying to go for a thousand in a year?”
Miko's jaw drops a little when he says that. Colonel Sheppard is a friendly man to everyone, the kind of man few ever say negative things about. That does not help Miko to feel any less nervous around him.
“Uh, yes, I am. How – how did...?”
“I know? My dad was doing business in Japan, brought the whole family. We saw the Sadako Monument at the Hiroshima Peace Park.”
Miko nods, her stomach clenching. Sadako Sasaki, a girl alive when the atomic bomb was dropped, had folded a thousand cranes and still died of leukemia. But Miko is not doing this for a wish; she is doing this to provide peace for her sister.
Colonel Sheppard sidesteps to be at the table. When he picks up the bird, he gives its tail a tug so that the wings flap. “You must have some pretty big wish if you're willing to fold that many birds.”
“It is,” Miko says. It is all she wants to say. She does not know Colonel Sheppard; he does not know her. No one enjoys hearing the sad tales of others, and Miko does not wish to garner his pity nor put up with any awkward attempts at comfort. But her discomfort when she is around him demands that she say something because he is in charge of the safety of Atlantis and even something completely unrelated to the city could be a security risk in his eyes.
A silly thing to think, yes, yet not silly enough to keep her own mouth shut.
“It is... for my sister,” she says and drops her eyes to the floor, feeling ashamed for divulging even that much, as though she has betrayed Kimico. Kimico's pain is no one's business but those closest to her.
“She must really need it then,” Sheppard says. He has set down the bird and taken a sheet of paper, folding and ripping it into a square.
“She does,” Miko says, and that is all she will say no matter what the Colonel asks or what words he uses that are meant to make her say more.
Sheppard begins folding. He is very precise, lining up the ends perfectly before pressing gently down without overlaps. Fingernails made blunt by combat sharpen the creases into fine lines. Miko watches his hands and notices the thin scars beneath the dark hair that any other time would be invisible by distance and poor lighting. She also notices that dexterity and speed without sacrificing precision is how he folds.
“I tried folding a thousand cranes,” he says.
Without thinking, Miko asks, “Did it work?”
Sheppard shakes his head no. “But then I only managed a hundred. I made the mistake of starting after the fact.”
“You must have needed the wish badly,” says Miko.
“It was for my mom,” Sheppard answers. He gives his crane's tail a tug before setting it next to Miko's.
Miko smiles, the burden of betrayal forgotten.
The next day, Colonel Sheppard comes to her in another lab to present two more birds, adding them to Miko's own two.
“Kind of addicting,” he tells her with a grin.
At lunch, he comes to her with three more birds he had folded while he ate. The action does not go unnoticed. When Sheppard leaves, the large alien man, Ronon, drops into the seat across from her. Miko stiffens and barely stifles a yelp.
If Sheppard makes her nervous, the larger Satedan man frightens her. His face is impossible to read, and the few times Miko attempted to speak with him, usually to ask for his help in lifting something heavy, she was always left wondering if she had insulted or angered him. He is just too quiet.
Except today, when he points at the birds and asks, “Why are you making these?”
“My sister,” Miko says. “After I make a thousand, I will send them to her.”
“Sheppard said that if you make a thousand you get a wish. You giving the wish to her?”
Miko nods. “Yes. But... it is more for comfort. She always enjoyed myths, especially this one.”
“She sick or something?”
Such a blunt question makes heat creep up Miko's neck, in part out of unease and in part anger that a stranger would feel it his right to question what was not his business. Her sister's illness should not be spoken of so lightly.
“She is,” Miko says, her voice hard and steady and her chin held high even in the presence of this giant warrior.
She does not know what reaction to expect so is both surprised and satisfied when the big man drops his gaze with a subdued, “Oh.”
Then he surprises her even more when he says, “There was this woman I knew who helped sick people. She used to say that medicine treats the symptoms, but love makes people feel better. When I told her she was nuts if she thought I was going to hug my men if they were injured, she laughed at me. I didn't blame her.” He grinned. “It was kind of funny now that I think about it. Then she told me that telling them they were going to be all right was good enough. Just as long as they knew they weren't alone. So how do you make these anyway?”
Miko shows him. Ronon's attempts are, at first, messy, but he is a swift learner, and when lunch ends Miko has twelve cranes.
And Colonel Sheppard has a point about it being addicting. He comes to her the next day with four cranes, Ronon with two. Dr. Lynel, who works in the same lab as Miko, brings her five birds made from colored paper. Miko recalls her having said something about how not even being in another galaxy would take her away from her second love of making home-made books.
It is Teyla who comes to her next, after lunch, asking if Miko will come with her because she has something to show her. Miko is not as nervous around Teyla as she is Colonel Sheppard and Ronon, but she is still nervous. Teyla is strong, courageous, athletic – perfect. She is a warrior and everything Miko isn't, and her grace reminds her of Kimico. Teyla brings Miko to her quarters and there removes sheaves of cream-colored paper flecked with tiny bits of leaves and color from a chest of belongings.
“Ronon told me you are making a gift for your sister from paper, and I thought you might like to use this. It is what my people use to write down their history. It is very durable and lasts for a long time.”
Miko takes the paper that feels silk-smooth in her hands and smells of sandalwood. The gift leaves her near speechless except to breathe a quiet, “Thank you.”
“Do you know we have a similar belief?” Teyla says. “To light a hundred candles on a hundred worlds will bring you peace and safety. I had a friend, Charrin, who was able to accomplish it.”
Miko looks at her with hope. “Did it work?”
“The wraith still came,” Teyla says honestly. “Life was still difficult.” Then she smiles. “But Charrin did live far longer than most. Neither did she die at the hands of the wraith. She once told me, when I asked her about lighting candles on a hundred worlds, that it was not about accomplishing the task. It was about finding hope. Hope is what keeps us going. When hope seems lost, then we must find it, even if it means lighting a hundred candles on a hundred worlds.”
Then, like with Ronon, Miko shows Teyla how to make cranes.
At the start of the new week, Miko has a hundred cranes, and they keep coming. Sometimes they are brought to her, sometimes they show up at her work station, sometimes outside her quarters. Cranes of plain white, of colored paper, sparkle paper, metallic paper, paper with writing on them whether pen, pencil or printed ink.
One day, Colonel Sheppard brings her a shoebox full of cranes courtesy of several marines who had been in need of a small pastime while on a long off-world mission.
Dr. McKay's mouth twists in a mild grimace on seeing the paper birds. “It's like an epidemic with you people. What the hell is going on? And please don't tell me it's the product of another alien virus.”
Dr. McKay is Miko's boss, and for that reason – well, what makes up one part of the reason – she cannot hold back the truth. “It is for my sister. She is ill. There is a legend in my country that says if you fold a thousand cranes in a year, you will be granted a wish. My sister enjoys such stories. I feel she would enjoy this.”
Dr. McKay's softening expression makes Miko's heart leap in excitement.
“Oh, okay, then,” he says. “Is she uh... I mean... I know it's none of my business but, um... is it bad?”
“Leukemia,” Miko says with some hesitation, as it still feels like betrayal.
“Oh,” Dr. McKay says more softly. “Well, um... if you need time off or anything to go see her, don't hesitate to ask. Any time. And, um... if she really likes the story then she'll definitely appreciate this.” He gestures with a fluttering hand at the shoebox of birds.
It's hard for Miko's face not to light up and her cheeks not to warm in a blush. She bows. “Thank you, Dr. McKay.”
When it is the next day, Miko is given ten more birds and a message from her parents that her sister is in the hospital after fainting. They tell her not to worry, that it is to be expected with the treatment making her weak.
It does not stop Miko from thinking about what it will be like should her sister die: the empty space in the world that Kimico had once occupied, the silence that should have been broken by her voice. No more messages, no more paintings, no more videos of her dancing. No more. Miko cannot stop herself from crying nor turning to the first person to enter the room and wrapping her arms around them. That person happens to be Colonel Sheppard, and yet she does not care. She does not care about anything except what might be. She is frightened and angry and helpless, hating herself for being light-years from home where she is needed. Hating herself for listening to the insistence of her family to stay where she is. Hating herself for putting work ahead of family. But hating herself all the more for the fear of going back and watching as her sister fades away in front of her.
She buries her head into Colonel Sheppard's chest as she sobs. Just when it slowly sinks in that this is the military leader of Atlantis she is embracing and that she should probably pull away, she feels his long arms wrap around her and his hand pat her back.
“It'll be all right,” he says, soft yet with a certainty as though he knows without doubt it will be, no matter what. “It will.”
It's not until two days later that Miko counts the birds Colonel Sheppard had brought her – a whole box full – along with another box brought to her this morning. When she adds it to her tally, the sum is one-thousand and eight hundred.
If a thousand birds in a year brings good fortune, then what does a thousand and eight-hundred in a few weeks bring? Miko's eyes blur. She does not consider herself a woman of faith yet she cannot help but think that this means something. Whatever that something is, it can only be good.
It is Colonel Sheppard who provides a large enough box to carry all one-thousand and eight-hundred birds and Colonel Sheppard who carries them to the 'gate room for Miko. She has decided to take Dr. McKay's offer to visit with her sister and deliver the birds in person.
“So,” the Colonel says, the box light in his arms. It is full of paper birds so it weighs very little. “Think all these cranes earned your sister a couple of wishes?”
Miko shrugs. “I would like to think so, but one wish is enough as well.”
When they reach the 'gate that has been activated for those heading to earth, Sheppard hands the box over for a marine to carry the rest of the way. He turns to Miko.
“It'll be all right,” he says, and again it is like a promise that will be kept.
“I know,” Miko says. She has never considered herself a woman of faith. Then again, neither has she ever considered what it means to have faith. What she is feeling now she supposes must be faith. There is no tangible proof, no glaring evidence, only a certainty far too overwhelming to deny so easily.
Miko is not afraid. Everything will be all right, one way or another. How could it not be? She is bringing Kimico one thousand and eight-hundred pieces of love and hope in a box, from people who don't even know her, from another galaxy.
The End
