Family History (SGA/Traders xo Hawaii 5-0) epilogue

[sealie]

This was actually pretty damn perfect, John thought, lying on a sun lounger on a private beach with a beer in hand – basking like a cat in unaccustomed, sunny contentment. Torren was a warm sleepy weight tucked against his side, all tuckered out from an afternoon playing in the sand. Teyla, on the other sun lounger, curled around the bump of her son or daughter and smiled peaceably at him.

The plan had been for an evening party, but they’d ended up Stateside just after lunch. Steve was overseeing the preparatory activity on a dual set up of coal and gas barbeques, but John could tell that Chin and Danny were really in charge. Danny kept trying to get Steve to lie on a sun lounger and rest. But he kept popping up to see what was happening or to ensure that everyone had a drink until Danny had pretty much demoted him to be their gopher with Danny’s cute little kid, Grace.

“Got it, Daddy. It was exactly where Uncle Steve said it was.” Grace came running back, slipping and sliding over the sand with what looked like a paintbrush clasped in both hands.

“Paintbrush?” Danny said. “It’s for the barbeque sauce, not the side of the house. Tell me you’ve got a food brush.”

“You said a brush. That’s a brush,” Steve pointed out.

“Unbelievable,” Danny passed his tongs over to Chin’s capable hands and strode towards the house.

“It’s clean,” Steve said to no one in particular.

Grant abandoned the sand empire – castle really didn’t describe it properly – he was constructing on the beach with Rodney. They had started helping Grace and Torren, but rapidly took over the project when their design recommendations hadn’t been followed with all due alacrity and precision. Grace had been the first to escape to search the rock pools beside Steve’s lanai for crabs and sea stars with Toby.

Grant sidled into Steve’s line of sight and stood waiting patiently, flexing his bare toes in the sand.

“Hi, Grant.” Steve raised an eyebrow in John’s direction

John shrugged.

Steve started to cross his arms but changed his mind and stuck them in his pockets.

Grant peeked at him out of the corner of his eye. Steve nodded encouragingly.

“You’re a SEAL,” Grant opened with.

“Yes.”

“You can swim.”

“Uhuh.” Steve nodded again.

“You’re a good swimmer.”

Steve stood a little taller. “Trained by the US Navy.”

“You have your own beach.”

“Yes.” Frankly befuddled, Steve’s eyebrows knotted together as he stared at Grant.

Grant stared right back. He definitely wants something, John thought.

“Oh,” Steve lit up, his smile was totally goofy. “You want to go swimming.”

“Yes,” Grant said firmly. “Can I go swimming in your water?”

“You don’t need-- Can I come with you? I can show you where the octopus lives. It’s just under that rock platform where Kono and Ronon are sunbathing. Do you have a mask and snorkel? I have spares. Fins?”

Grant looked a little stupefied in the face of Steve’s relentless enthusiasm. “Please?”

Steve bounded off towards the house, running effortlessly over the sand. John raised a finger as he passed, indicating ‘me too.’

“What the Hell?” Danny bellowed from inside the house. “You can’t go swimming. You have a concussion.”

“I got an all clear from the Scottish dude.”

“Residual swelling! You still have a bruise!”

“John’s coming with us,” Steve’s voice came distantly, evidently gone further into his sprawling house.

“Oh, and that makes it all right.”

John cocked an eyebrow at Teyla who was laughing silently. John rolled off his sun lounger, smoothly scooping up Torren and dumping him, carefully, on Teyla.

“I’m a responsible adult.”

“Yes, John,” Teyla said equably, settling her son against her side.

“I’ll come with you.” Toby sauntered over.

“Thank you, Toby.”

“Hey.” John pointed at his own chest. Toby was the little brother.

Steve bounded out of his house with an armful of kit. John wondered why he had so many sets of fins and masks but figured: squids and their toys.

Danny came right out after him wielding the paintbrush.

“The coals are going to be hot enough in half an hour to sear the steaks. Don’t stay out too long.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Danny lowered his brows and scowled.

Steve ignored him, which was obviously with the ease of long practice. He dropped the equipment on the sand, immediately crouching to set a pair of fins almost twice the length of the others aside.

“Here.” He handed a black rubberised slip-on pair of short fins to Grant. “These are the easiest to manage. And this mask is great. It’s old fashioned, but it gives you a nice unimpeded view.” He just tossed a black set of neoprene boots and long fins at John.

Toby examined the tip of one fin which looked a little chewed on.

“My dog, when I was fourteen. Not a shark. Honest.”

“I’ve never swum with flippers before.” Toby twisted them this way and that.

“Fins,” Steve corrected.

“Not surprised,” Rodney snorted, happily ensconced on John’s sun lounger slathering on factor 1000 sunscreen. “Not a lot of sea in Toronto. Lakes, but no seas.”

“You’ll be fine. Put them on in the water,” Steve advised just before Grant could drop down on his butt on the sand and pull on his fins.

John checked the fit of his chosen mask, inhaling thorough his nose and creating a pressure vacuum. Then he pulled on the neoprene boots, they were a little large.

“Spit in the inside of the mask, rub the spit over the lenses and rinse off the excess in the sea,” Steve said.

“And he wonders why I don’t swim.” Danny stalked off to the barbeques, disgusted face firmly fixed.

“It’s to stop them fogging up. It’s perfectly fine.” Steve pulled off his t-shirt in one smooth motion and tossed it on the spare lounger.

“You have tattoos,” Grant said.

“Yeah.” Steve flexed his shoulders.

“They’re complicated.” Grant leaned over and squinted. “Did they hurt?”

“Yes. It’s a different kind of pain.” Steve shrugged. “It’s intense but transitory, you know, in the scheme of things.”

“Seems a silly thing to do. Hmmm.” Grant pootled off into the water swinging his fins and mask.

John bit his bottom lip to stop laughing at Steve’s flabbergasted expression. He guessed that Steve was used to people admiring his tats or being disapproving and categorising him as a thug. Grant’s simple dismissal of Steve’s tats as silly was probably unprecedented.

Toby held up his arm, showing the inside of his wrist and an ankh tattoo.

“I don’t have any.” John pulled off his own t-shirt, tossed it on top of Steve’s, and followed Grant into the water.

The water was warm and glorious. The oceanic water around Atlantis was generally pretty cold, sited in the north to south surface current from the planet’s polar ice cap. The marine biologists on Atlantis had asked about moving the ship around the planet. And really, John had no objection, it would be kind of different surfing, doing it in a city-ship, but Woolsey was a party pooper.

He ducked down and slipped on the fins. They made him ungainly, as he tottered across the rippled sand until the sea reached his chest. Gobbing in the mask, he followed Steve’s instructions and tried to not to retch. Rinsing and then fitting it, he got the snorkel mouthpiece positioned correctly and ducked under the water.

It was better than space walking, because the sea was there around you, supporting and embracing. There was a tiny silver fish just on the edge of his view, but when John turned his head it had zipped out of sight. A splash followed by a long torpedo shape resolved into Steve, dolphining through the water with a controlled, smooth undulation. Sticking his head under the water, Grant watched him slide by, mouth open, forgetting to breathe around his snorkel. John pointed at his own mouth, telling Grant to remember his mouthpiece. Quickly, he set it right and then sunk into the water, grinning around his snorkel. Toby was happily trundling along at the surface, kicking his legs.

Steve made a smooth u-turn and came back to check on them. He hadn’t taken a breath yet. Jerking his thumb to the left, he arrowed ahead with a single kick, and returned a second later, swimming swoops around Grant.

John got himself orientated and started to kick in the direction Steve had indicated. Remembering to only move his legs from the hips in slow, easy movements, he swam just under the surface of the water, breathing through the snorkel. Behind him, he knew that Steve was giving Grant a quick lesson in using fins. The little rocky outcrop seemed to be part natural and part rock armouring. Toby was finning over a bunch of rocks following something. Getting closer, it resolved into a single, translucent light bulb floating in the water with trailing tentacles. It was a jellyfish and Toby was giving it a wide berth as the umbrella-light bulb gently bobbed along.

Toby gave him a thumbs up. ::It’s amazing. Do you think it can sting?::

I guess so. Can’t they all?

::Dunno::

Telepathy was suddenly pretty cool.

Have you seen the octopus?

::Steve said that it lives a little further out::

Kicking furiously, about five kicks for every one of Steve’s, Grant caught up. Steve coasted along at his side, illustrating a smoother, easier motion with a waving hand. Grant managed to drop his kicking down to three.

Steve dolphin-kicked and was ahead of them in a heartbeat. The octopus was tucked between a massive piece of rectangular concrete lying on top of boulders providing a perfect cranny. It seemed to be waiting for him, obviously used to Steve. Pulsating red and ochre, it curled its tentacles around a cowry shell.

::Amazing::

It’s changing colour. Green…

Holding its treat, the octopus squeezed into the smallest space available and disappeared into the maze of rocks and seaweed. Grant was taking photograph after photo with what looked like a standard Panasonic Lumix camera with a force field around it.

Grant?

Toby looked at him, expression perplexed behind the mask. ::He can’t hear you, John. What’s the matter?::

Grant and Ancient tech. He’s already lost his tricorder to an explosion. Impossible. I swear, scientists; they’re the definition of trying to herd cats.

Toby laughed like water cascading over a waterfall; it chimed in John’s head. Grant turned the camera in their direction and flashed off a photograph. Steve eeled up behind them, slinging his arms over their shoulders.

Grant snapped off a shot.

John was so going to have to get a copy of that photograph.


The end

Comments

[jimandblair.livejournal.com]

John is such a pleasure to write. I think, largely, it's his introvert's perspective.

I've always been interested in the SGA cannon pseudo science behind the ATA gene. They never really did much with that in the series, but the snips we did see make it possible to consider that the gene (although I consider a complex is more likely) could lead to abilities in the "less evolved" humans who carry it. But, really, I just like dabbling and it's great when someone else enjoys it.

OMG, H5-0. You summed it up to a 'T' -- Did they really just to that!