forgodssake | ic inbox } ataraxion.

John?

[ Hesitation and distance both stop Charles contacting Sheppard any more than via communications device, and his tone is curious. Reserved in caution. ]

You shouldn't be patrolling alone-- who are you talking to?

Tyke.

[ It isn't the answer to the question, and for a moment that's the only reply that John gives, giving the illusion that he means that he's speaking to Tyke. He isn't. He realises after several beats that he's made a mistake, and doubles back, slow on beating his verbal retreat, as though his mind is occupied elsewhere. ]

Tyke gave me permission. I couldn't just sit and do nothing. It's not so bad out here--just quiet. Eerie. Lonely. Nothing I can't handle.

Hey, did you hear the one about the new age spider?

[ Oh did he not answer the question? ]

[ The sigh from Charles' end is only barely audible; it's the kind that is some mix of understanding and resignation.

His unanswered question is put on hold, for a moment. ]

I didn't hear the one about the new age spider, no. How does it go?

Well, you see, he was an out of date sort of guy, had a real hard time keeping in contact with people when they all moved to Facebook. [ Charles doesn't know what Facebook is Shep ffs. Actually pretty much this entire joke isn't going to make sense. ] So he gets the hang of e-mail at last, and he writes to one of his thousands of spider brothers and says "This is great, you know, but I'm starting to feel like people just don't want to come back and visit my place any more, what am I going to do?" and his brother takes a couple hours to reply back and he says "Bro, you're still using that old silk web aren't you? That's so yesterday's news. These days, you want people to visit you, you gotta get yourself a website."

[ Crickets? ]

That's it--that's the joke. Alright alright, how about the one where the spider goes into the bar... [ Halt. Exhale. ] Did you hear that?

Is it looking for barflies?

[ Yeah that first joke flew right over his head, even if he could probably extrapolate some meaning and context through experience of living somewhere where a grand portion of the population are from fifty years in the future.

Which is when Charles realises that John asked him a question. ]

I didn't hear anything. [ An uncertain beat of silence. ] John, who were you talking to, besides me?

Hah, good one.

[ Momentarily distracted, hesitating moment as it might appear just for a brief second that his train of thought has fallen off course. This time, though, it reasserts itself. ]

I think...I think it's... [ Another brief pause, as he listens again--listens to something that Charles can't hear. ] It's like she's calling to me.

[ But who's calling to you, John? ]

If she's here, I have to find her. I have to...to go to her.

[ He sounds increasingly more anxious as he keeps speaking. It's not hysteria yet, but there's a note of it in there. ]

No no no, John, stay talking to me.

[ His tone has that trace of urgency in the midst of assertive calm. There is something wrong about all this, whether it's the ship's trickery or some new development of John's ailment. ]

I think it might be best if you stayed right where you are and-- called for back up, perhaps.

[ He tries to listen, but the pull is so strong. It's Teer, he knows it is, and she could really be here. After all, like the other humans from the Cloister and the Ancients before them, she had ascended beyond the need for a body. She could be here, calling for him, and the strength of that pull was beyond even Charles' calm assurances. ]

You don't understand. I missed my chance last time. I could have stayed with her. Haven't you ever wished you had the opportunity to make a decision again--to do things a different way?

[ And then more hectic, pressing: ]

What if she needs my help?

[ At least John is talking, which Charles takes as an opportunity to attempt to reach him the usual way-- but distance or something else, or both, make this a short lived attempt. ]

I do understand. I know what it's like to want to help people, having failed them once before. But you're part of Security, they have a way of doing things, yes?

[ One hopes. ]

Where are you?

Their way of doing things--you mean you think I need backup? [ He laughs, almost too easily. ] It's only Teer.

[ The calling is more urgent, and for almost forty seconds Sheppard says absolutely nothing at all, though the line is still open, made obvious by the sound of his feet in the corridor, footsteps occasionally pausing as he listens. ]

Deck 40. I think. It could be anywhere. Listen, it's going to be fine. I do this sort of thing all the time. Rescuing the beautiful damsel in distress, saving the day... You don't have to worry about me.

If this woman wasn't a passenger prior, then yes, I advise back up.

[ S i g h. Charles listens to silence, trying to get any cue of someone calling for Sheppard, but nothing. Just foot steps.

It could be anywhere. ]

You were worried about you a moment ago, and now I am. You don't sound right.

No, [ He says, answering a question that wasn't asked. Maybe he asked it of himself, firmly enough that it took shape-- ] It has to be Teer, who else could it be?

[ Chaya, Teyla, Larrin or Elizabeth. It feels like a woman's voice. Maybe it's Colonel Carter, but it feels... He wants to recognize the voice. He wants to with enough determination that he's convinced himself it's Teer, but there is so much room for doubt, and no time to let it in. ]

It doesn't matter about me. I have to go to her. I know you understand. [ Then he amends: ] You will understand, Charles.

Don't be-- John, don't do anything rash, please.

[ He's totally about to do something rash. In fact, Charles expects he has no choice, now. ]

You have to stay where you are--

No--no, I have to go. I have to go. [ A pause, and then it's very clear that Sheppard isn't talking to Charles any more. ] I'm coming. [ The sound of rushed footsteps and suddenly a heady whirl of static. ] Don't go -------- -- com---.

[ Disconnect. ]

John, wait--

[ But the static is familiar. He knows what that portends.

A disconnect. ]

Damn.

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