Painting Perspectives

Rated: PG

Category: Sheppard/Lorne/Ronon Friendship, Gen.

Season: Three

Spoilers: None Per Se, But Mention Of Something From 'Reunion', in Season Four.

Summary: One Man's Trash Is Another Man's Treasure.

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John Sheppard rarely visited the multi-purpose room.

It was used by most of the staff of the Atlantis expedition as a sort of 'catch all' room, and people could be found there at most times of the day playing cards or board games. Others sometimes visited the room to draw or write or even paint.

Since John didn't have much use for art, and wasn't terribly fond of games, he simply had no need to go there. His feet carried him past the entrance to the room twenty times a day, but he never even glanced inside.

Tonight, they carried him past the rec room door again.

But this time, something was odd. Something didn't feel right.

John slowed his steps and glanced at the entrance to the room.

It was very late, and while Atlantis truly didn't sleep, this room was usually pretty lean on occupants in the hours just before the dawn.

It was the light that had first attracted John's attention.

Soft golden light spilled from the open doorway to the room into the hallway. At this time of the morning, Atlantis was almost entirely darkened, and since he was intimately acquainted with his city at this hour, John knew it.

He stopped and peered into the room that was so new to him.

After a moment, he nodded appreciatively. The room looked well-used, and it was nice to know the Atlantis expedition members were getting some healthy time to relax.

Decks of cards lay scattered on several of the tables in the room, while a shelf along one wall brimmed with games like Risk, Sorry, Cranium, and Scattergories.

Sheppard chuckled as he saw this last game, thinking of McKay. Surely Rodney could come up with some doozies in that contest of vocabulary. And even if he'd made the words up, no one would think to argue with him. It so wouldn't be worth it. Zelenka might give it a go, but even he would probably be wise enough to just let Rodney have his way.

As John's laugh filled the quiet room, a sharp inhalation of breath came from the far corner of the space.

Sheppard immediately alerted to the sound, and he focused his gaze on its origin.

"Who's there?"

A slight scuffling sound answered him, then a throat cleared.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John nodded, still not seeing anyone. "Yeah. Who's there?"

Another scuffle answered, and Major Evan Lorne stepped out from behind a large canvas that was supported by an easel.

"It's me, sir."

"Lorne?"

The Major nodded. "Yes, sir."

"What are you doing here?"

Sheppard asked the question almost rhetorically, as his brain had already deduced what was going on. Lorne wore a small apron over casual clothes, and he held a small paintbrush in his right hand. He seemed slightly embarrassed at his actions, and it took a moment for him to respond.

"Well, uh… painting?"

Sheppard grinned. "I can see that. Why are you painting in the middle of the night?"

"Well, this is when no one's around. I like the quiet. I'd paint in my quarters, but I don't have all my own supplies right now, so I have to come here to use the community stuff. Eventually, I'll get what I need from Earth, but for now…"

John interrupted. "You sneak in here in the middle of the night to pirate paint."

Lorne laughed out loud. "Come on, it's almost time for my duty shift. It's nearly dawn, not the middle of the night. Besides, you're up."

Sheppard shrugged and took a few steps toward the Major.

"True. So, what'cha painting?"

Lorne snorted. "Well, that's what was so funny about your wording earlier. It's pirates."

John's interest piqued and he made his way around the easel to see Evan's painting.

"Doesn't look like pirates to me," scoffed Sheppard. "There's no boat, no skull and crossbones, no ocean."

Lorne smiled patiently. "Not all pirates were sailors, Colonel. I guess these might be more of raiders, though."

John nodded. "Ok, I'll buy that. They're pretty good. I didn't know you could paint."

"Most don't. I haven't painted in forever, and certainly not stuff like this."

"It is unique, I'll give you that," mused Sheppard.

"Yeah," agreed Lorne. "My mom would've used a more colorful word for it. She was an art teacher. Had me painting as long as I can remember. I guess I had a bit of a knack for it, though, so I didn't mind. What I did mind was what she made me paint. It was, you know, art teacher stuff. Landscapes and everything else that didn't interest an eight year old kid."

Sheppard laughed. "Big bowls of fruit?"

Evan nodded. "Exactly. Still life at eight might as well have been dead life. Boooring. So, whenever I could, I painted stuff like this when she wasn't paying attention. I did comic book characters, mythology stuff… things that actually interested me. When I decided to start painting again a while back, I thought I'd start with what I'd always enjoyed the most."

"Sounds good to me. So, who are these guys?"

Lorne shrugged. "I don't know. Vikings, maybe?"

"Why is the sky red?"

"Because it is."

"Why?"

"It just seemed right. I can't explain it. It just had to be red."

Sheppard looked appraisingly at the painting and cocked his head to one side.

"I don't know," murmured the Colonel. "Looks a little off to me."

John was teasing, but a shadow of annoyance flashed across Lorne's face at his words. Evan wasn't all that pleased that Sheppard knew that he could paint, and to have someone that he respected nitpick his work irritated him. He was about to defend the painting when another voice cut across the conversation.

"No. Red's perfect."

The deep voice of Ronon Dex caused both Lorne and Sheppard to jump a little, as neither man had heard Ronon's quiet approach. Sheppard quickly reacted with surprised sarcasm.

"Ronon! Geez! Doesn't anyone sleep around here?"

Ronon glanced almost dismissively at John and stepped around him to stare at Lorne's painting. Lorne stepped to one side to allow the much larger man a clear vantage point.

'Great,' thought Lorne. 'This is getting better and better. First the Colonel and now Ronon know about this. Yippee. I'll never hear the end of it.'

Ronon was silent as he tilted his head first one way, then the other, as he studied Lorne's painting. He seemed to be completely absorbed in it, and while John was blissfully unaware of the expression, Lorne noticed that Ronon looked almost thoughtful. After a long moment, Ronon spoke again.

"The sky's red because it's just barely dawn. These three are emerging victorious from the night after a long, hard battle. The sun shares their sorrow at the death of their comrades, so it shines the color of blood."

Ronon paused then and stared right through Sheppard for another long moment, then he continued.

"That's why the sky's red."

Ronon then turned to leave the room after his uncharacteristically long speech. Sheppard and Lorne stared at his retreating back in shocked silence. Sheppard was merely surprised, but Lorne was both astounded and appreciative. He had never been able to explain his paintings in words. He relied on the paint to tell the story. Most of the time, the story was misunderstood, but in this case, it was not.

Ronon had understood perfectly.

Something his mother had often said came back to Lorne in that moment. 'If art has a voice,' she'd say, 'it speaks in a million tongues.'

This painting spoke Ronon, and it was obvious.

The big man turned when he reached the door, but this time his eyes did not find John's.

They bored into Evan's like obsidian coals for half a second as a quirky grin alit on Ronon's face.

"Don't let him give you any crap. It's a nice painting."

Lorne nodded. "Thanks."

Ronon gave a little nod back and disappeared out the door. As the last dreadlock vanished, Sheppard swallowed awkwardly.

"Well, that was odd."

Lorne merely nodded mutely.

John licked his lips nervously, then took a step away from Lorne before speaking again.

"Well, um… I'm on duty shortly, too. I'm gonna go get changed."

Lorne nodded again. "Ok. I've got to pack up here myself. I'll see you later, Colonel."

Sheppard was out the door before Lorne finished speaking, obviously a little embarrassed.

'Serves him right,' thought Lorne.

Forty-five minutes later, Lorne was in his quarters in full uniform.

A large canvas was propped against one wall.

Lorne gave it a smile as he stepped out into the hallway, ready for another day.

XXX

Some weeks later, Ronon entered his quarters after what had been a very long day.

He flopped onto his bed without bothering to change first, despite the grime he still carried with him from a trip to a very sandy, very dry planet.

He wanted a shower more than anything except sleep. As he felt his eyes begin to drift shut and his brain start to shut off, something sparked a hint of wakefulness in his mind.

He'd seen something inside his door as he made his way to his bed.

Something that didn't belong.

Ronon forced one eye open and glanced over his shoulder to the doorway.

Sure enough, there was a package there. A very flat, rectangular package.

Ronon groggily stumbled over to the package. It was wrapped only in loose, brown paper.

A small tag was adhered to the back.

Ronon lifted the tag off the package and read it.

Sheppard and I were talking the other day and we realized you've been here almost exactly a year. That deserves a celebratory gift. Besides, my mother always told me that art chooses its owner, not the other way around. This painting chose you. I'd be honored if you'd have it. Glad you're with us, Ronon.

-Lorne

Ronon tore the paper off his obvious gift and grinned. He studied the warrior in the center of the painting, with his sword held aloft in triumph, and his smile grew wider.

Lorne was right. This painting had chosen him.

Rightfully so.

Just as Ronon had chosen his friends.

Rightfully so.