glassesg33k | Oil - Chapter V

Title: Oil Chapter Title: Chapter V- FIVE
Posted: Monday March 24th, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis Pairing: John/Rodney
Chapter Rating: PG Chapter Category: Gen
Word Count: 2,734
Chapter Summary: John's adult past life and general grypings.
Cross-posted: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/ http://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesG33k/works
Disclaimer: Refer back to the top of the page on the Prologue or First Chapter, here: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all your help. :-)
A/N: Yeah, this one doesn't have that great of an ending, I didn't know how else to finish the chapter and it was so natural I decided to just leave it. *shrug!*

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Chapter V
Five

John Sheppard's arms shook as he tried to keep the bowl of rich refined chocolate above the invisible line only he knew of. If he lifted it any higher or let it stray to a lower point then the chemicals wouldn't do what he wanted them to and the dark decadence wouldn't come out as delicious.
After deciding to open a food shop John managed to enroll and graduate from a local cooking college. It was a four year degree but still he as proud of it, especially since he still had memory problems even after all this time.
Studying had been nearly impossible, every time he holed himself up in some place still and quiet the terrors would rear their ugly heads. At first it was all he could do to actually see the words on the page and not his past lovers face screaming in blood up at him.
He'd find the very lines of letters swirling into the horrors he'd experienced, taking on a swimming 3D form then snort awake to find he'd dozed off once again.
It'd been one hellish fight but he'd managed to learn and get through school. After this he took a few chemistry classes, and one Nutrition class. Oddly enough the chemistry classes had been easier and he had even been able to get lost in it a bit; maybe it was because it was so math heavy and for whatever reason math always made him felt better. When he was at his most uptight or over burdened he'd sit down and start doing high end calculations, it as the only thing that saved him at times, at least it had been, before he'd become homeless.
It wasn't until he tried out chemistry that he'd even been near calculations again. Initially he'd feared it thinking it'd cause flash backs, since flying demanded so much math and demanded that you be able to calculate in your head.
He was shocked and wary but greatly relieved that the math required to be done for chemistry didn't cause any kind of; harm. Still John wasn't about to push it, he knew that if he did something as foolish as sitting down and pressing the matter, forcing himself to say do high end physics in his head again, like he had when he'd been locked up … well, he just wasn't that stupid.
He wanted to live in this world, the here and now, not be ripped back to his past against his will, even if it meant “curing” him, like that one damn shrink said.
His brother had dragged him into a psychiatrists office, thankfully only one time and the shrink had suggested that John be forced to relive and retell what had occurred, a type of immersion therapy or what have you.
John knew right then and there that Shrinkdom was nothing but shit and he as not about to return; ever. He'd gone entirely holistic after that and was proud of the fact that he hadn't seen nor been to one single doctor so far. ( But really he didn't have the money for it anyway.)

John was brought back into the here and now by the fact that his bowl was empty and it was time to scrape it clean. He reached over hopping and with a wince snagged the wide and short bendable rubber spatula. He scrapped the bowl out as best he could his arms starting to vibrate with the effort. Patiently he waited, allowing the fine chocolate to pour onto the cooled mixing marble directly in front of him. This was the most critical part of the whole process, folding the delicate confectionery. If done too slow or allowed to set it would be ruined, if done to fast it would make air bubbles and stress the chemicals that made up the chocolate itself.
Terribly when John finally started in on learning how to cook he found that for him at least, it was more like an art form then a science. Every day he had to delve into himself and do deep inner examinations just to produce a product. What did he like in flavors currently, what did he like when he was young, what did his mother like, for she had some interesting yet widely enjoyed tastes. Then he had to try and recall items that he liked in his childhood, and when he was finally done with the preliminary research he had to make up a sample batch and pass the creations around, finding out what others liked or disliked, then go back and do the whole thing over again if it needed correcting or to be scrapped and tried a new all over again. John hated every second of it, the whole thing a torture since each and every every minute, of every day, caused him to relive his terrible past in some way. At the oddest times and in the strangest ways something involved in cooking would cause his mind to recall a long lost incident. Maybe a smell or a taste would ignite some fleeting memory, it was never too bad and he was able to shake his head, wiping away the wisps, like the tendrils of ghosts surrounding him. As long as he felt the cool metal of his mixing bowls in his hands, or the marble counters touching his legs, the music playing and the most important; the caustic smell of cleaning products mingling with the refined foods surrounding him (something that never existed in Afghanistan) he was fine.
All John had wanted when he moved here was to get away from it all, instead he ended up delving head first into it.
That was one of the reasons he still struggled to this day.
On an upswing along the way John had found that he really enjoyed the free and easy form of creating salads, sandwiches and soups. He had hopes initially of opening a sandwich shop but was told this would never work, that you can't just sell sandwiches and that “there's already a Subway, so it's worthless, don't try it.”
Not wanting to waste his money and taking the advice to heart he searched around for what else he could do. The pot debate was getting underway and everywhere John looked stores were popping up and proclaiming to make a good bit of money, he decided then that it was a good business venture and that he'd start up his own. In a nice way it was a massive middle finger to his old man and his “oh so caring family” while still being “respectable”.
So he opened a “Friendly” shop, a place where he sold “gourmet munches”, he had his creations; confections, soups, salads and sandwiches, but what really drew his crowds in was the pot laced items.
If someone wouldn't go near a health food store they'd go into his place simply because he offered items that most health food stores didn't offer.
And when the shoppers became hungry they could try out one of his new inventions. Nearly everyone became a fan of his food and it was a fantastic way to offer new items to people, get recurring customers and even loyal patrons.

Placing the bowl aside John picked up his instruments, two harder large hand sized flat spatulas of sorts and started in. Folding the chocolate on marble was meant to cool it slowly and evenly making sure that the molecules bonded correctly.
The whole trick was to make sure it was done at just the right pace, some liked listening to music as a jeweler would when cutting diamonds and on any other day John Sheppard would be doing just that, one of his regular tunes on in the background setting the tempo and therefore the consistency of the delicacy he was creating, but today was a bit different. As of late there had been great debate over his very living and he needed to know the outcome. Currently at 10:00 p.m. the local channel was showing an hour long info-taiment kind of story in precursor to the main news broadcast. It was the local evening news that John didn't want to miss one bit of so he left it on the channel though the story currently showing was pretty darn good. He had what all the other shops in this strip mall had, a large flat screen T.V. out front for the customers to watch. It had come with the store and was one of the main selling points when it was being offered. John had thought about it for all of two hours then snatched it up making sure to negotiate for a few much needed “perks”. Thankfully the sellers were more then willing to cater to him and he got what he'd asked for and more. In the end John had gotten the right to augment the place as he saw fit, something he still hadn't done.
The place came decorated with dark marble counter tops, deep honey wainscoting and hunter green paint on the walls and to John's eye it looked good so he saw no reason to change it.
He did shell out for nice glass topped tables and some butcher block wood for certain mixing items, and three T.V.'s, one as large as the 52 inch flat panel out front. When it was all said and done his shop was a bit nicer having one large screen T.V. out front and one in back for the workers, they also had two other flat panels but those were behind the main ordering counters for food so customers could see if their orders were up.
Yes John had shelled out for the three T.V.'s, the main one that came with the store currently showing the local channel, it had been worth it and he didn't regret it one bit, infact he was glad he had spent so much it made life quite a bit easier.
Currently the radio was playing with the two T.V. screens mumbling along, the noises making a cacophony of talking and singing which allowed John the ability to tune one out when he wanted. He didn't like being alone like this, it always set him off now. Before he had needed solitude but after trying to study in the quiet library of the local school he found that having some kind of life around him helped a lot more then his mind being allowed to go wild, creating enemies and shadows that were trying to creep up on him.
Overall at night now John found that if he played the radio or at least one of the T.V.'s then he didn't feel so alone and vulnerable. (Maybe it was all the times he'd been beaten by individuals and groups while on the street that was now causing his near freak outs when things were silent. When he'd been in the armed forces and even after, he'd needed silence and couldn't get enough of it. Being homeless corrected that fast.) Whatever the cause he didn't need day-mares or day-terrors as he called them, and if he was awake he made sure to have anything and everything surrounding him that would ease his mind.
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“So according to the federal government Marijuana is more lethal and dangerous then Heroine, Meth and Cocaine combined.”
The television droned on in the background as John carefully folded the slowly cooling dark chocolate before him.
*tack tck tck tack tack takc...*
John looked up, his bi-weekly masterpiece nearly done, someone was rattling away on the front doors, tapping the glass. He ignored it his flow thrown off and tried to get back into his creation but the noise became worse. Soon he couldn't ignore it anymore and from the shouts it sounded like several people, maybe a small crowd was trying to gain entrance. Whatever was going on it sounded very dangerous in one way or another.
John reached for his gun and instead got his cell phone glad he'd had the presence of mind what felt like so many years ago now to place the damn thing right where he was always reaching. He took it out and made a call, just to be safe.
Pausing for one more moment to debate letting go of his nearly done creation he sighed. There was nothing he could do, maybe he could pass it off as some thing else, but for the life of him he couldn't come up with anything at the moment. And it really didn't matter anyway, the wanna-be intruder or burglar was getting very agitated and John had the terrible feeling that it might be the cops or some other kind of law enforcement. Thinking of that he wondered if he should call his lawyer. Instead he called Ford, his delivery boy. Ford was a good guy and worked for him and a few other mutual businesses. John decided that he was the lest to attract attention and be more understanding if he needed help. Ford was also a friend and if something happened then he wanted someone to know. Back when he was in the armed forces and then homeless he hadn't cared what happened to him after he passed away, John had figured he'd be dead so what would he care. But as of late, with age and ailments creeping up on him he'd started to really give a crap, wanting a funeral and all, just some modicum of respect, you know? He had no idea what changed but whatever it was John wanted someone to find him and then carefully and with great care take care of what was left of him and put his body to rest.
“Damn,” Ford's phone was off so he had to leave a message.
“Hey yeah it's John, I've got some trouble at my place and I just thought I'd let you know ...” John leaned to the side peeking out from the kitchen and preparation area of the shop. Despite all the ruckus there didn't seem to be a crowd. The idea of a whole town being out, just like in Afghanistan with more or less pitchforks and fire torches trying to break into his shop and take it down shot through his mind. John glanced up at the still playing news, it would have been from the main topic tonight that would send the town out for blood, that's for sure.
“Yeah, I don't know what's going to go down here, I just need you to come by and check up first thing as soon as possible tomorrow morning,” John grimaced, “If I don't end up on the news first,” he chuckled giving a smirk. He doubted that something that bad would happen but couldn't help saying it.
The place had been locked up for the night at 10:00 p.m. and all John's regular customers would know that.
“Hey! Hheeeyyy!” the doors were now being pounded on, “I can hear you in there!” someone's muffled voice called through the thankfully rather thick glass. It was one of the reasons John had chosen this place, it made him feel safe, or it had until tonight.
Tonight though was showing him that no matter where he was he was still far to vulnerable, especially in this business.
He lifted his cell making one last call before he confronted whatever was out there.
“Damn it,” John hung up, he'd had to leave a message instead of being able to talk to his legal help directly. He could have really used any and all possible info right then.
“Come on! I know you're in there I can hear you from here! I can see you for god sakes!”
The attitude and inflection were that of a teenager but the voice was that of a rather aged adult.
John finally inhaled and in hopes that he wouldn't be arrested for being burglarized marched to the front door empty handed. He knew enough by now that if someone like him in this kind of a shop were to even attempt to defend himself the poor shop owner would just be jailed for “beating the robber”, or “going to far” or “far to harsh self defense” as had just happened in a case not a month ago.