A/N: And now the much anticipated scene - John tells Ronon about the ogre in his family tree...

Chapter 31

Ronon leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and blinked a few times. There was a chorus of very soft snickers from around the table. He opened his mouth and blinked one more time before he spoke. "I'm part what?"

John ran a hand over his mouth and tried really hard to clamp down on his grin. Since he couldn't trust himself to speak without his voice cracking, he just kind of nodded/bobbed his head like a total spaz. Teyla saved him by very calmly saying, "Ogre. They are actually a very noble race – they have a tradition of being fierce and proud warriors. Not like trolls." She sneered and shook her head faintly.

"Yeah, baby eaters. Really nasty," John supplied, his voice somewhat strangled. He frowned disgustedly, but his eyes were bright with the laughter he was barely holding in check.

Rodney was leaning back in his chair as well, slightly turned and his left arm draped over the back. His right hand came up. "Huh. And to think of all the time I've wasted calling you Chewie, when I should have been calling you Shrek. Damn."

Ronon glared across the table at the scientist as everyone broke out laughing. Well, everyone except Rodney – he grimaced and swallowed nervously at the murderous look he was getting from Ronon.

Keller had both of her hands pressed to her mouth. "Oh. My. God." She glanced at Teyla and leaned forward. "Do they speak in grunts?" When Teyla nodded, she let out a delighted laugh, leaned back, and actually stomped her feet a few times. Then Ronon was glaring at her, and that just made her lose it even more.

But pretty soon the corner of Ronon's mouth was crooked up in a grin. He shook his head, his dreds swaying. He shrugged. "Well, Great Grampa was a side-show giant. And really, really ugly," he deadpanned.

Other people in the cafeteria were turning to see what all the laughter was about after that comment.

Zelenka had his glasses off because tears were running down his face. "Halloween is coming up – you have perfect theme for costume now." Unfortunately he was sitting next to Ronon, and that comment earned him an elbow. But not a hard one.

"I could dress up as a pre-ogre Fiona!" Keller said cheerfully. "Thanks, Radek." Ronon threw his napkin at her. "Oh! And John could be Puss in Boots."

"Hey!" John's mouth hung open.

"You would have to wear pants," Teyla said solemnly.

"But he's the wrong color," Lorne said to Keller. "He'd have to be his evil twin. Or get a dye job."

"You people are all insane," O'Neill said as he shook his head. He wasn't laughing, but they had learned over the past week he was the king of deadpan. Even better than Ronon.

"I've known that for years," Elizabeth said. She looked like her old self at that moment as she smiled at the group.

"Goofy buggers, the whole sad sorry lot of yae." Carson just shook his head, but his dimples were showing.

The laughter died down, and John was one of the first to sober up. He watched everyone, and the emotions around the table were so relaxed and comfortable it was like watching a family. Not his family, no – hell, he couldn't remember any meals where there was talking. Except maybe the formal gathering things, and he had to eat in the kitchen with the servants during those until he was a teenager. He felt the smile slip from his face, and a second later he caught Teyla watching him out of the corner of his eye. He crooked up the corner of his mouth at her briefly and shrugged as he lowered his head.

"Hey, Sheppard – why the long face?" Ronon said a second later.

John looked up and found that end of the table watching him. He gave them a nonchalant wave. "Eh, it's nothing."

"No offense," Zelenka said as he put his glasses back on. "But you look like man who has had his puppy kicked into next week."

Everyone was watching him now. Man, he hated being put on the spot, but after all they've done for him lately, he decided they deserved an answer. He shrugged with one shoulder. "It's stupid – I just…. It's…." He took in a quick breath and lowered his head. "I've been an outsider for so long, it's just … hard to be, well, comfortable. With this." He shrugged again and wished he could crawl under the table.

Rodney was the first to speak. "You're feeling like a social outcast?" He gestured at the table. "Um, hello. Look at who you're sitting with. There's a genius, multiple ph.d.'s, a couple early college graduates, braniacs all – there probably isn't a single person here who wasn't ridiculed all the way through high school." Then his head twitched. "Except maybe Lorne, Ronon, and the general. You guys were probably the jocks that made fun of us, gave us wedgies, locked us in our lockers."

Lorne shrugged. "I was a jock, but being an artist kinda cancelled that out."

"I was the fat kid everyone made fun of," Ronon said. Everyone stared at him. "It's true. They didn't leave me alone until I hit puberty and grew eight inches in one year." He snorted. "And my Mom signed me up for my first Aikido lessons. Then they were afraid of me and left me alone." He stroked his goatee and smirked. "Suited me just fine."

Then everyone was looking at O'Neill. He just glanced around and shrugged. "I had no problems."

Rodney grimaced and thrust his jaw out. "Okay, with the exception of the general, we all…."

"Speak for yourself, Rodney," Zelenka said. "Where I grew up, if you were intelligent and did well in school, it meant that you had chance for decent job and good career, possibly cushy government one. I was babe magnet."

Rodney just stared at Zelenka for a moment. Then he sighed. "Okay, with the exception of the general and the Czechoslovakian Barry White over there…." His words trailed off and he pointed at Teyla. "I bet you were popular."

"High school did not exist when I was young. And my people were always isolationists."

"Huh." Rodney's eyebrows drew down and it took a second for him to get his temporarily derailed train of thought back on track. "Okay, what I am finally trying to say is that you're in the middle of the biggest bunch of social rejects on the planet. Believe it or not – you fit in perfectly."

John watched everyone nod in agreement with Rodney's declaration. He chuffed, and when nobody reacted to the odd little habit it struck him that, well, nobody had in weeks. He didn't have to hide his nature around this lot – they really didn't give a shit he was vargyr. Man, he should have hung out with scientists sooner. He had to swallow hard a few times against the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Teyla reached over then and gave his hand a squeeze.

Whether you like it or not, she thought and smiled, I think you have found a new House.

John looked at her, then a slow smile lit his face. I think you're right. Then he looked at all the other smiles directed towards him. He started to speak, but had to clear his throat. Even then, his voice was still rough. "Why did you have to call him the Czechoslovakian Barry White, McKay? Why? The image…." He closed his eyes, shook his head, and put his fingers on his temple.

Laughter filled the cafeteria once again.

-oOo-

Just before dinner Lorne came and got John and brought him down to Elizabeth's office. The door closed behind them and John felt a momentary rush of panic. But the atmosphere in the office was relaxed with an undercurrent of excitement, so he didn't feel too worried. O'Neill was present and standing at parade rest, his expression completely unreadable as usual. Lorne joined him, and Elizabeth gestured to one of the chairs in front of her desk. "Please have a seat, John."

He sat in one of the low padded chairs and glanced around the office. She had several African masks and pieces of art decorating the room, and a few other pieces that he couldn't identify. He tapped the arms a couple times and raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth smiled at him. "Major Lorne came to me with a proposition, and after a short discussion, we'd like to run it by you."

"Okay," John replied reluctantly.

"We could always use another helicopter around here," Lorne said. "We're constantly ferrying scientists to and from the mainland, and we bring equipment over that's pretty sensitive and needs to be airlifted over. A good pilot would be – will be needed."

"We would help you get recertified," O'Neill added. "And from what I read in your service record, that should be a piece of cake."

John found he was barely breathing. He had wondered when his hush-up bribe would come, but from what he could feel in the room right now, the offer was genuine. He glanced at Lorne and could feel a touch of anxiety there, but it wasn't a bad feeling. More like nervous excitement, really.

They must have taken his silence as indecision because Elizabeth said, "You would be offered a good salary, and your own quarters. There is also full insurance, and four weeks of vacation time. Take some time, think about it. You could even go home for awhile, if you want."

At the mention of home, John's face dropped. The place was probably a disaster right now. "Yeah, home. Might be a good idea, since I didn't get to, well, close things up before …." He shrugged.

Lorne made a strangled sound and actually slapped his forehead. O'Neill gave him an odd look. "Crap, I completely forgot to tell you. While you were out of it after your surgery, I had a couple people go to your place and winterize it." He grimaced guiltily. "I'm afraid a couple of raccoons ripped through the screen door and tore the place up pretty bad. At least it wasn't a bear."

John just stared at Lorne for a few seconds, then the corner of his mouth crooked up. "Um, thanks." Lorne nodded. John faced Elizabeth. "I, ah, would like to go home and think about it. Give you an answer in, oh, a week?" He already knew what his answer was going to be, but he did want to go home first.

Elizabeth smiled. "That would be fine."

John raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question of are we done? She nodded and he stood up to leave. He paused at the door, however, and turned to O'Neill and Lorne. "Say, I've been wondering – what happened to that Ford kid? I haven't seen him around lately."

"He and Sgt. Bates are pulling guard duty now for the embassy in Saudi Arabia," O'Neill replied.

John just raised his eyebrows briefly. Well, they were being good soldiers and following orders. He was actually glad nothing bad happened to them, but he still would have liked to have had the opportunity to corner them in a dark hallway and beat the shit out of them. Would have made him feel better. Ah, well…. He nodded to everyone and left, and before he got all the way through control he was grinning.

-oOo-

One week later John was standing in the tiny kitchen of his cabin. He glanced around the small dark room – the shudders were over the windows and the only light came from the small overhead in the kitchen. The few pieces of furniture he had were covered, and the normally crammed bookshelves were empty. What few personal belongings he had that he was taking with him back to Atlantis were already packed up, and it was pathetic that they took up less space than his clothes did. For almost six years he'd lived in this space, and for six years he thought he'd been perfectly content.

Now that he looked back on it, what he really had been for all that time was alone.

Yeah, he went into town maybe a couple times a week, played pool, joked with the locals, but he always came back here by himself. Hell, he never even had a woman here, and once his cat disappeared, he never did get another. No, he decided that if he stayed, he'd be well on his way to becoming a crazy old hermit who would make the Unibomber seem well adjusted. He sighed heavily and shook his head.

He made another sweep of the cabin, checked all the cupboards to make sure there wasn't a scrap of food in the place, tested the faucets to make sure the water was completely shut off, then after one last look around the room, shut the light off. He set a padlock on the heavy door, then closed the screen door and made sure it was latched tight. Someone was going to swing by once a month and make sure packrats hadn't taken up residence and check for vandalism. The garage was locked down tight, the fuel tank empty, and anything of value had been given away. He took a minute to look out at the woods behind the cabin – there was already a skiff of snow on the ground and he could see the deer had already completely wiped out what little remained in his small garden and raspberry patch. The pile of wood was the same as when he left it, and he turned his back to it and marched around the garage to the driveway.

Ronon was leaning against the back of his truck, arms crossed and smirking. John's worldly belongings were loaded in the back, and it only filled maybe a fifth of the bed. "Ready?" Ronon said.

"Yeah." They climbed in. Once they got to the airport, John was handing the keys and title over to Bill, the mechanic that worked there.

As they started to pull away, Ronon gave John a sideways look. "Gonna miss the place?"

"Yes and no," John replied. Yes, because there was a good chunk of his life on this plot of land. No, because the only person he had to share that life with was himself.

He never did look in the rearview mirror.

-oOo-

Lorne hoisted the flamethrower and frowned. The last time he picked the thing up, the circumstances were too horrible to contemplate. Now he was going to be doing the same thing all over again.

But this time, it was going to bring some much needed closure.

"You ready, major?" Col. Stephen Caldwell said. The bald man had the nose of an amateur boxer and the demeanor of a bulldog, but in the past week had proved to be a very intelligent and fair man. He got along right away with Dr. Weir, which shocked the hell out of Lorne, and had actually proved to have a fairly dry sense of humor. And he was currently holding the other flamethrower.

"Yes, sir."

Caldwell nodded to him, then turned to face the other two people currently in the armory with them – Zelenka and Carson. "Gentlemen," he said and they all filed out.

They took one of the freight elevators down to SL3 instead of the main ones because of the flamethrowers, and made the long trek to the holding cells. The doors slid open, and the smell that rolled out was horrible. Zelenka gagged, but he pushed his glasses up and stepped through the doors with others, his face just as set and determined.

Michael was standing in the center of his cell. He had to cannibalize his own body to heal the damage from the bullets, so now his stained and tattered scrubs hung on a frame that was nothing more than skin stretched over bones. He hissed at the men, but then cocked his head when he saw the flamethrowers. "Ah, my father must be dead," he rasped. And smiled.

Zelenka hurriedly attached the leads from his pad to the controls of the cell and backed up as far as he could go. Carson stood right next to him, his lips drawn in and his expression pained. Zelenka kept his gaze away from Michael and quickly made adjustments, then looked at the colonel. "Ready to drop your side of the shield at your word."

Caldwell and Lorne both started the ignition flame and raised their weapons.

Michael started to laugh softly. "I will give my father your regards when I see him in hell."

Caldwell nodded, the shield dropped, and fire engulfed Michael. He threw his head back and howled with laughter. He didn't struggle, and his emaciated body went up so quickly that within a matter of seconds he collapsed, and inside of a minute he was discorporate ash. Caldwell and Lorne snapped off their flamethrowers and lowered them.

Carson stepped forward and glanced down at the blackened ash. "Rest in peace, you poor bugger," he muttered. Then he glanced at Zelenka – the man looked disgusted and sad all at the same time. "Do we need to do anything else, Radek?"

"No, no. Once ash, it is over."

"Good," Caldwell said. "Get a team to hose this place down, and once they're done, I want these cells dismantled. Dr. Zelenka, make sure that field generator gets back to where it belongs."

"Yes, colonel."

They all took one last look at the pile of ash, then left in silence.

-The End-

End Note: That's it. Nothing left to see. Move along. :) Oh man, there was so much I didn't get into this that I wanted to. Sigh. Guess that means I'll have to do a sequel. And the scary thing is, I do have an idea and a title. Crap. But, must draw first since that muse is speaking to me again after a four year absence. Thank you all for following me on this twisted little journey. Take care!!