My Wishes For You
This is a challenge response to use the words of Sandra Sturtz Hauss's "These Are My Wishes For You" in a fic with Liam and Sandoval. I'm afriad I didn't do a very good job of it. Sorry, April. I guess I shouldn't try to write when I'm sick. You can have it - it's dedicated to you - if you want it. btw - Liam doesn't sing - I know that. Unfortunatly, I found this old tape of Gaelic songs in the closet, and, well, it's FF, alright. If I want him to, he will. At least he's not like Shatner and tries to, even when the whole world knows he can't, and collectively whimpers when he goes for the microphone. "If I could wish you a thousand things, I would He was eating. Again. Was that all he ever did? Eat and eat, stuffing his face with everything he could find? What was it this time? "Some kind of pastry . . . maybe. Just a tad hard to tell with it being shoved in like that, but that looks like icing. Sort of." " . . . And Mrs. Sullivon and I had a 'wee' chat, and she's decided to keep her late-night walks to herself now, and to a minimum . . ." Definitely a pastry. "I think that might have been a bit of an apple . . ." "Very good, Tate. Keep me informed of any developments." "Sure thing, Boss," Tate nodded happily, sucking some of the drippy apple filling from his fingers. Sandoval made a small sound of disgust, and turned his head, lip curling. "What? You want some?" Tate offered the mutilated treat to Sandoval. Sandoval glared at him. "No." "Heh - your loss. These things are excellent. Rosalyn makes them." "Who?" "Mrs. Sullivon's daughter. You know, the blond one the big mouth and the even bigger . . . other things." "You were flirting with the daughter of a woman you threatened?" Sandoval asked, incredulous. Did the man have no redeeming traits? Well, other than his sister . . . "Yup," Tate said, wearing a dopey, self-satisfied smile. He stuffed the last of the pastry into his mouth. "Hey! Take a look at that one!" "What?" "And not only does he eat all the time, he talks, consistently. More often than not when he's eating." "That one! The brunette with the big eyes." Sandoval followed his subordinate's gaze, finding the two long-legged, giggling women as they strode past, waving long-nailed fingers at the Volunteers and Companion personal. One caught sight of Tate as he ogled at them, and she waved, apparently trying to make the gesture coy. It was good enough for Tate. "Aren't you worried that Rosalyn might get jealous?" "Rosalyn who? "I'll see you later, Boss," he added as he hurried off, licking the last bits of icing from between his fingers. She did have big eyes, Sandoval realized, staring after Tate. Although, he very much doubted that it was her eyes that had attracted the other man. Big brown ones that looked to be almost bulging out of her face. Bambi eyes, DeeDee would have called them. DeeDee . . . Sandoval irritably shook his head, now was not the time to brood. Seeing the "Bambi-eyed" woman's companion smiling at him, Sandoval turned his back in disgust. He had better things to do. "Volunteer!" he snapped, startling the passing Corporal. "Yes, sir!" the Volunteer responded, giving a sharp salute. "What is the status on the Taelonists?" A brigade of the white-robed followers had set up camp beside the dig, seeming determined to halt the proceedings by sheer annoyingness alone. "They have been removed, sir. Da'an and Major Kincaid spoke to them. They agreed to leave." Speaking of annoying . . . "There were no problems?" "No sir. The Taelonists were pleased to converse with a Taelon, and I believe Major Kincaid appealed to the . . . 'mothering' instincts of one of the followers." "Mothering" instincts?! My day is officially one granted by hell. Or Zo'or - more likely, that." "Dismissed." The Volunteer scurried off. Sandoval, once assured that he was alone, sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. The archeology team in Ireland had made a new discovery, not something overly important, yet it was generating much more unrest than it's usefulness warranted. It was merely a relic, something that had no value to the core energy crisis of the Taelons, nor the pending war with the Jaridians, and yet, Da'an and Zo'or were both insistent on the actions that would be taken to preserve and house it. Mind you, neither were persistent on the same actions. The two Taelons, their Protectors, and two squads of Volunteers had been in Ireland for the past four days, everyone's patience fraying considerably with the passing of each new day. Well, everyone save Major Kincaid. He actually seemed to be relaxing further each day, drawing some sort of quiet strength from the rolling hills. The Taelons had announced that they had reached an agreement that morning, assuring the Humans that they would be returned to their homes by noon. It was now three thirty p.m.. Unfortunately, it seemed that the Taelons were not in agreement upon the agreement that they had reached, and had now returned to the stage in their negotiations were they did not speak to each other. Sandoval had attempted the theft of the artifact the night before, whether for the hold it could give him, anonymously, over both the Taelons, or in a desperate attempt to quell the argument, he wasn't quite sure. Sandoval took a step towards the dig, but stopped, seeing Major Kincaid emerging from it and heading in his direction. He turned the opposite way, taking out his Global and calling up the weather in an attempt to look busy. He let his feet carry him, not paying an exceptional amount of attention or care to where they took him, just assured that it was away from the Major. He and Kincaid did not, on the best of days, like each other. And lately, especially since the incident with Jack Malley, and his torture of the younger man, the relationship between the two could best be described as passively hostile. The Major avoided him, no longer making the fleeting overtures of friendship, or at least companionship, that he had made before. Waiting until Sandoval had exited a place if he also needed to be there, ignoring him in the Mothership corridors, and when they were forced, at times, to be together, he avoided eye contact and spoke abruptly, offering a cold shoulder and obvious distaste. The incident with the dark matter had made things even worse, with his attempt to Implant the Major and his attempted skrilling. However the Major had stopped the blast and dispelled the dark matter . . . it did nothing more but increase Sandoval's suspicions and questions about the younger man. The last time the two of them had worked together in this country Sandoval had noticed how at ease the young man had seemed, how easily he had fit into the country side, how natural he had looked standing among the megaliths and the green landscape. He had noticed it again this time, and he was not the only one. Many Volunteers had remarked, not knowing that they were being overheard by their superior, at the way the Major blended into the land and the lifestyle. How much he looked like he belonged. Tate, as well, had said the same, stating in a horrific Irish accent something about 'The wee lad acomin' back ta his Old Country . . . ' Sandoval had pointed out that, as far as anyone knew, the Major had been born and raised in the States. However, his subordinate had been right; it was, accent aside, a fitting description of the Major in the Irish setting. His whole bearing changed, relaxing, and Sandoval was almost sure that he had heard the trace of an Irish lilt on many occasions in the other man's voice. Even his eyes had changed. The peculiar, light green orbs had taken on a deeper, shining hue, reflecting the landscape around them. One that when the Major had first, in the entire time they had been in the country, locked gazes with him, asking a pointed question about the burglary attempt, Sandoval had caught his breath with a shocked, suppressed gasp. It had almost been like staring into the eyes of Lt. Siobhan Beckett. Sandoval looked up when he realized that he could no longer hear any sound of the dig. He looked around, and upon recognizing where he was, sighed, sinking to the soft ground. The Implant had discovered this place on the first day. Small and unobtrusive, it was hidden at the base of a small hill. A few trees bordered it, and some large stones. Enough so that anyone who saw it from the outside wouldn't be tempted to enter, but not enough to close the place in. The late afternoon sun fell on his hair, making the dark strands glitter. Sandoval removed his suit jacket, folding it over his arm, and leaned against a tree trunk. He uttered a soft, tired sigh, then closed his eyes, tilting his head back to the gold splatters of the Irish sun. He thought of nothing, his mind as empty as his CVI would allow him to make it, and his face relaxed. A small stream ran through two of the large rocks, one embedded on spring, and the babbling, tinkling sound was strangely comforting. The wind blew by, brushing his face and threatening his hair gel's durability. On it, Ron could smell the blooming heather and the cool air, a faint hint of rain and the emerald grass. He could hear the traces of bird song, a shuttle somewhere in the distance, and . . . what seemed to be singing. The Major had let another fact about his familiarity with the green country slip the second day. His content, although perhaps somewhat bored, humming had turned into soft Gaelic words, weaving through the smoky pub, causing many of the local patrons to take up the song, and the present Volunteers to look at him with surprise. The Major, upon realizing his slip, had stopped and blushed bright red, remaining silent even under the double barrage of the slightly tipsy Volunteers and beyond tipsy locals. Listening to the warm, swelling voice, the Major sang with odd intonation, giving some words and phrases echoing, alien harmonies, Sandoval, unreasonably, fought the sudden urge to cry. A deep, aching pit open in his chest, welling outwards. Something . . . stirred within his memories and his heart. Glimpses of a lost possibility, maybe, flashes of light and green eyes. It stopped, reaching it's climax and drifting away. The sound of laughter and clapping followed, catcalls and whooping. A few voices attempted to copy the song and the words, but stopped and turned into self-mocking laughter. The clumsy tongues unable to mimic the sounds or recreate the mood. "Guess the Major finally broke down and gave the Volunteers their concert." All sounds faded, and Ron wrapped his arms around him, grateful for the silence. Memories may resurface in stillness, but at least they were not stirred into half remembrance by the echoes of melody. He abandoned himself to the silence, stilling completely, barely breathing. He remained that way, mind empty, until the sun had completely moved from his face, and the chill of the approaching evening and rain began to seep through his pressed gray suit. Stretching, he pressed his back to the tree, grunting and wincing at the many pops and cracks. Unsteadily, he leaned forward, crawling into the migrating patch of sunlight. He didn't notice the paper that lay in his way until his hand came down on it. Confused, he shifted to his knees, holding up the envelope. Across the front, in a flowing, graceful hand, was written 'Ronald Sandoval.' Puzzled, Sandoval slipped a finger under the seal, opening it slowly. Inside was a folded piece of paper. Written across the outside half that faced him was, his breath caught, 'Father.' "These Are My Wishes For You" May you find serenity and tranquility Always know that there are those May a kind word, May the teachings of those you admire Remember, those whose lives you have touched May you not become too concerned with material matters, Realize that what you feel you lack in one regard May you find enough inner strength May you always feel loved. Mother enjoyed this one; she believed it. -Your son. A single tear ran down his face, and his heart, clenched, began to beat painfully again. Still trembling, Ronald refolded the paper, placing it back in the envelope and pulled his suit jacket on. Placing the paper in his inside pocket, he rose to his feet and drew a deep breath. Things suddenly looked very different. He didn't know how anyone could have placed the envelope in front of him without him noticing, even with his eyes closed as he ignored the world, or who could have placed it there. As far as he knew, three people other than himself, at the most, knew he had a son. Dr. Curzon, the child's mother, and, possibly, the child himself. How any of them could have arrived at the Taelon site, in Ireland, without alerting some sort of personnel was beyond him. Logically, the letter would have had to have been placed there by one of the people already at the site, more likely one of the Companion personnel than a local, although, he couldn't be sure. He couldn't be sure of anything. "I do feel loved, son. Now, at least. Thank you." Rubbing a hand over his eyes and through his hair, Ron straightened his suit and drew himself up. The letter raised many questions, but they would have to wait. Nodding once, Agent Ronald Sandoval left the hollow at the base of the hill and headed back towards the Taelons.
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If I could wish you starlight and sunshine, I would
If I could wish you happiness and forgiveness, I would
If I could wish you fulfillment, I would
If I could wish you peace and serenity, I would
If I could wish you a full night's sleep, unbroken by those nightmares, I would
If I could wish you shelter from the cold, and arms to hold you and keep you warm, I would
But, most importantly of all,
I can wish you love.
And I do."
-- Anon
" . . . So I 'straightened' things out with Mr. O'Brady, and he realizes that people hear things in the night all the time, and that what he heard was just the wind . . ."
He shook his head, the melodious words forcing their way into his conscious. "I won't listen. I won't listen. I won't listen."
Fingers trembling, he opened the paper, spreading it out across his knees.
in a world you may not always understand.
May the pain you have known
and the conflict you have experienced
give you the strength to walk through life
facing each new situation with courage and optimism.
whose love and understanding will always be there,
even when you feel most alone.
a reassuring touch,
and a warm smile
be yours every day of your life,
and may you give these gifts
as well as receive them.
become part of you,
so that you may call upon them.
and who have touched yours
are always a part of you,
even if the encounters were less than you would have wished.
It is the content of the encounter
that is more important than its form.
but instead place immeasurable value
on the goodness in your heart.
Find time in each day to see beauty and love
in the world around you.
you may be more than compensated for in another.
What you feel you lack in the present
may become one of your strengths in the future.
May you see your future as one filled with promise and possibility.
Learn to view everything as a worthwhile experience.
to determine your own worth by yourself,
and not be dependent
on another's judgment of your accomplishments.
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