The Six Senses

Color

It was something he’d never really thought about, not since he’d first slipped into uniform and the need to choose his own clothing had become minimal at best.

Now, it was all he could think about.

He didn’t leave the SGC, because there was comfort in being surrounded by olive drab and gunmetal gray. When he’d tried leaving – General Landry had kicked him out after a few weeks and told him to find an apartment (Which he still hadn’t) – he found himself unable to function, like a child with ADD.

He’d walk into a book store and see a flash of blue and expect to hear Rodney or Zelenka arguing over the latest power-usage reports. He’d be three steps into a supermarket and see a red apron and all he could think of was “What’s blown up now?”

The worst was when he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up asking the cashier at a gas station for directions back to the base. The man had an accent that John couldn’t place, one he associated with warm brown skin and darker eyes. He’d left, apologizing profusely, before the man could get more than a few words into his explanation.

John didn’t know what PTSD felt like, despite what the shrinks at SGC might say.

What he knew, was loneliness.

~ Finis ~

Sound

It took six weeks and Rodney McKay to get John Sheppard to voluntarily leave the SGC, and even then it was only for an evening.

John knew that none of them were taking the change well; it had been too abrupt, and far too complete of a change for it to settle quickly. He spoke with Rodney on an almost daily basis, and he could hear the strain in his friend’s voice that came from trying to appear sane when the world around you wasn’t.

That was the real problem. Somewhere in three years and countless crises, life in Atlantis had become his definition of sane. It was normal to be worried, but not too worried, about what might be hiding in the shadows. It was sensible to flinch at sounds that didn’t have the timbre of the city’s voice laced through their tones. Earth was too noisy, in all the wrong ways; you couldn’t think, couldn’t tell if someone was behind you or above you.

The worst of it, in the middle of all of the strange sounds that flooded this ‘new’ world, was the silence. The silence that echoed in the walls, and in the floors, and in technology that didn’t warm to his touch.

At the age of 39, John Sheppard learned how it felt to be deaf.

~ Finis ~

Burning

John never thought the smell of death and destruction would become familiar. He didn’t want it too, didn’t want to become jaded to the death he’d dealt out so casually in the Pegasus Galaxy. He’d served for close to twenty years without it becoming familiar – Recognizable, yes, but not familiar in that almost-comforting way he’d heard other lifers talk about. Unfortunately, some things were beyond his control.

When he went on his first mission for the SGC, he was three steps from the ‘Gate when the smell hit him. It was a combination of smoke, ozone, and the sickly-sweet scent of recent death. It smelled like a culling, and that was something he thought he’d left behind when he was recalled. He’d heard about the Ori, had even been prepared for devastation. After all, that was nothing new; he could handle it no problem.

That being said, John made it ten steps from the ‘Gate platform before he dropped to his knees and was sick in the bushes. His new ‘team’ had hung back and made sympathetic noises (He was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt on their first mission; it was possible they were snickering at the ‘new kid’).

When Jones, the only one who hadn’t tried to commit suicide-by-babbling-brook, asked him later why he’d lost it, John had thanked the Captain for his concern and walked away.

He didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t the smell that bothered him; it was the realization that he felt more comfortable surrounded by death and open-air than he did in the sterility of the SGC.

~ Finis ~

Sweat

Anyone who has ever worked physically hard can attest to the fact that sweat has flavors – Passion, Exhaustion, Excitement, even Fear.

In rooms where it flows freely – Gyms, Spas, Hotels of Questionable Reputation – you can taste the sweat in the air. It’s something John has known for as long as he can remember, something instinctive. It’s how to read a man in a fight without thinking; how to know when you’ve turned the corner and won.

Ronon had taught him the art of reading sweat on a conscious level; under his guidance, John had developed the skill to a level he’d never before considered. He had thought it was kind of cool at the time. Two weeks into his tour at the SGC, when John felt like he was choking every time he took a deep breath, he revised his opinion from “Kind of Cool” to “Worst Thing Ever”.

He didn’t know if it was the lack of ATA gene or some kind of chemical reaction to that neat purple grain they’d been using as flour for the last two years in Atlantis. All he knew was that the air tasted wrong, and the air in the gym was fouler than anywhere else. He’d called Rodney, who’d spent fifteen minutes complaining about the waste of his time before admitting that he’d noticed it too and recommending that John eat something spicy.

By the end of week three of “The Tabasco Experiment” John really wanted to go home. He could no longer taste anything that they actually served in the cafeteria, liquids had started to feel kind of tingly when he drank anything, and he could still taste the sweat in the halls.

What it all boiled down to, was that John really wanted to go home.

Or at least a loaf of Athosian Flatbread.

~ Finis ~

Chill

The floors in Cheyenne Mountain are cold.

This shouldn’t have been a surprise; after all, the entire base is located under a mountain. That didn’t make it any warmer. John didn’t remember the chill from his last visit to the SGC, although he’d been pretty strung out at the time. He’d also spent most of his leave off-base, trying not to think about the decisions that were being made about his future.

Now that he was living on-base, John found that he couldn’t get warm. His hands and feet were the worst; heat seemed to just leach out of them whenever he touched something. Within the first week he’d stopped doing anything barefoot, and grown very good at avoid actually touching anything. He took shit about being weak from the marines in the work-out rooms because he wouldn’t do his sit-ups and push-ups on the metal floors, but it was better than that awful cold.

He spent his nights curled up under two standard issue blankets (He’d tried for a third, but the quartermaster had given him a funny look and said no), and dreaming about surfing just off the mainland. By the time John hit the point where he considered putting in for some leave, he’d missed his chance. When he asked, General Landry explained in no uncertain terms that once an expedition member accepted an SGC position, due to the current situation with the Ori, there was a six month waiting period before they could use leave. John resolved to start drinking more coffee and get his hands on a better blanket..

It was when his dreams shifted that John knew he was in trouble. He’d been having dreams of Atlantis since he’d come back to Earth; that had been expected. He dreamt of the people he’d left behind, the friends and allies. He dreamt of the sunsets you could see from the Western balconies. He dreamt of the smell and taste of the Lantean seas. The new dreams were unsettling, because they were about the most basic of things.

Starting in his fifth week on Earth, John dreamt of walking barefoot through the corridors of his city. He dreamt of the warmth that emanated from the floors and the walls, the sunlight that crept in cushioned by stained glass. He dreamt of rooms he could warm with a thought.

No matter what he dreamt, John Sheppard always woke up shivering and alone.

~ Finis ~

Other

John doesn’t even realize that it’s been missing until it returns.

As they enter the room where the Jumper is being stored, something indefinable crawls over John’s skin and nestles in his soul. As he enters the ship itself, he finds himself taking the first deep breath he can remember since leaving his city. He’d avoided the Jumper labs at the SGC, not wanting to pour salt on the wounds of separation; if he had realized how good it would feel, he’d have been living in the Jumper Labs.

An escape leading to a half-assed rescue and recovery mission is hardly the time or place to linger over old friends, but he can’t help himself as he guides the Jumper through the ‘Gate. As they paused at the way-station, waiting for Rodney to rewrite his own code and listening Carson bemoan his turtles (Why the man had decided to get pets after less than two months on Earth, John couldn’t fathom. But then, Carson had never been as invested in Atlantis as the rest of them had, not really. Carson always had something worth going back to Earth for), John stretched his mind and allowed the Jumper the connection it craved. Elizabeth’s voice pulled him back to the present, concern softening the tones of her question.

It’s then that the revelation strikes him. He’s going home. The revelation was compounded by Landry’s threats, but not inspired by them. It was that first feel of the Jumper, coming alive under his touch and welcoming him back to himself, that told him what he already knew.

When they passed the event horizon into the Pegasus Galaxy, the last of the missing pieces slid into place. John landed the Jumper, stepped out into the night, and looked up into a foreign sky.

It was good to be going home.

~ Finis ~