Author's Note + Warnings: Please read - This story contains major character death. Gory? No. Angsty? Very. Lugubrious? Hopefully not, but probably. Self-indulgent? Definitely.
Though not is all as it seems (not saying any more, nyah) I fully admit that this brief exploration into something darker and angsty comes as a surprise even to me. It was a story bunny that would not let go. If you don't like character death...don't read it and then complain ;-) The dead stay dead, even in the Pegasus Galaxy.
Similarly, it is very Sheyla. Again, very much a surprise to me, but it perfectly fit the rest of the story that was happening.
You have been warned. If you have read this and plan to keep reading, then please enjoy with all my love!
Pivot by T'pring
Teyla stared into the flickering event horizon but saw nothing. The tingle of energy against her skin drew goose bumps and called her forward, but she couldn't move. Her body felt heavy. Her heart raced with dread. If she could only stand here forever and stare at the blue sparks, she wouldn't have to face the other side.
"Teyla?" She ignored the gentle nudge in Ronon's voice. "Waiting won't make it easier."
"Ronon's right. We should just get it over with."
She wanted to scream at the truth in the words. She wanted to throw it far from her and believe what she wanted. Instead, the kindness and shared grief in the voices of her friends brought the thing she was so desperately trying to deny dangerously close to the surface. Ronon was right. And so was Rodney. She just didn't know if she had the strength…
"He needs to go home." Ronon's plea was the soft desperation of one who didn't have anything but duty to fall upon. And it was duty that finally, painfully, plucked at her own courage.
"Yes," she said, able to say no more, her voice cracking over even the single word. Her feet felt like they were rooted into the ground so she jerked a little with surprise when the wormhole surrounded her and she felt the cool tingle of transport.
When her foot landed, she was in the gateroom of Atlantis. The windows were bright with warm sunlight only just striking the topmost westerly panes of stained glass. It was early afternoon. A buzz of voices filled the room – the calm, normal chatter of people happily at work. She took three more deliberate steps, then turned to wait. She caught movement from the window in Mr. Woolsey's office. He was watching the team return, his hands clasped easily behind his back, his posture idle.
Ronon and Rodney emerged from the stargate with their burden between them. Each had one end of two long branches in each hand. John lay sprawled across them, limp legs dangling from the knees over the makeshift stretcher.
The reaction in the room was instant. The happy chatter went silent for a moment, then began to buzz with alarm. Passers-through stopped to stare.
"Medical team to the gateroom!" Woolsey bellowed, running over the walkway into the control room and the stairs beyond.
Ronon and Rodney ignored the sudden bustle of concern and lowered John gently to the gateroom floor. With a tenderness that crushed the breath out of Teyla's lungs, Ronon carefully placed one of John's hands across his chest, the other he propped on John's holster, as if ready to draw. It was a Satedan commando tradition, Teyla knew from a fireside conversation many moons ago. John had made a joke about shooting ghosts in the afterlife, but his expression had been approving.
"You're home, buddy," Ronon said softly, ruffling John's hair. And then he rose, turned his back on the room and stood staring at the windows behind the stargate as Teyla had stared at the event horizon.
Mr. Woolsey finally reached the bottom of the stairs, puffing slightly and looking confused. Teyla watched him gape at John on the floor, saw him try to catch Rodney's attention who'd begun to pace by John's feet. At last he noticed her watching him and rushed closer.
"What happened? What is the nature of the Colonel's injury?"
She tried to answer, tried to tell him how long they'd sustained resuscitation, how Rodney had even fashioned a defibrillator out of spare parts from the outpost, but there was too much to say and none of it was enough. Nothing they'd done had been enough. She held Woolsey's gaze long enough for him to see her grief, then looked away. He gasped, wrung his hands and stared at John in horror. The security officers were wearing similar expressions.
The gateroom fell silent as understanding spread. She didn't see who started it, but one by one, the technicians in the control room stood, moved to the rail overlooking the arrival platform, and spread their feet to stand at attention. Stunned passers-through quietly lined the room, equally attentive. The SO's moved to honor guard position and stiffened with respect.
They'd left John's vest at the outpost, Teyla thought as she filled her gaze with him, embracing idle details over the truth of the whole. Ronon had buttoned his shirt back up.
When the medical team, led by Jennifer Keller herself, rushed out of the hallway, the gateroom was absolutely silent. Not a whisper of motion came from any person, military or civilian, save the startled medical team. Jennifer looked around in sudden anger and flung herself at John, barking orders.
Teyla waited, her throat constricted, her eyes stinging.
Jennifer's exam was more thorough than it needed to be. Teyla could see the doctor's face twist into grief as she ordered yet another scan, another manual check, more confirmation. In the end, each member of her team shook their head sadly at her final query and Teyla could see the doctor stiffen, bracing herself.
The tears on Teyla's lashes overflowed and she felt a single hot streak trace her cheek.
Jennifer stood, walked to stand before Mr. Woolsey, her expression a mask of plastered on professionalism that even Teyla could see was close to failing. She kept flicking uneasy glances at Teyla.
"I'm…very sorry. There's nothing I can do." was all she managed to say but the words were like a blow to the gut. Teyla gasped and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, feeling chilled. Just behind the stargate, Ronon groaned an anguished curse and fled the room. Rodney slumped, shuffled to the steps that led off the platform and sat down heavily. He buried his face in his hands. It was then that Teyla realized, despite all evidence, against all reason, they had all hoped Atlantis would perform another miracle and bring John back to them.
Woolsey put his arms awkwardly around her shoulders, but his voice was calming, kind, and professional.
"Doctor, would you please take care of moving Colonel Sheppard. I would like a preliminary report on cause of death," his voice hitched ever so slightly against the word, "within the hour. I need to make an announcement to the city as soon as possible and it would be comforting to have some detail to share."
"Right," Jennifer breathed, faintly. "It would help if I knew where to start." She glanced at Teyla again, this time looking guilty.
"There was an energy surge at the Ancient laboratory we were exploring. It triggered a device. Rodney tried to shut it down. John ordered us to destroy it before it completed its pulse. We did so, but some of the energy must have been released because John…"
Teyla held herself even tighter. "There was an explosion and a bright pulse of light and when I looked up from where we had taken shelter from the blast, John was just lying there."
She begged Jennifer with her expression not to ask any more. She was already haunted by the vision of John lying, sprawled and still, on the rubble of the outpost. He was supposed to have been next to her on the ground. She hadn't noticed that he'd fallen behind.
"I'll scan for radiation and cellular damage first," Jennifer acknowledged softly. She suddenly lurched at Teyla and grabbed her in a shuddering embrace. "I'm so sorry, Teyla. I'm so…sorry," she whispered over and over.
Teyla felt the sting of tears, again, but also a sudden obligation to return the comfort, so desperately was Jennifer offering it.
"We will endure," she said, pulling from the traditions of her people. "We mourn those who are lost and continue to fight so they are honored. John would want us to."
Jennifer pulled away, nodding, but with a strange expression of skepticism. She returned to John and Mr. Woolsey gave Teyla a timid squeeze.
"Can I do anything for you?" he asked, just as kind as before. "Shall I send word to have your son brought to you?"
Teyla could hardly process the thought, it seemed so oddly considerate. Kanaan had taken Torren to celebrate fall festival on Belsa with several other surviving Athosians. Kanaan had been excited to show off his son who was nearing his first birthday and Teyla had sent them happily together. As much as she enjoyed fall festival, it was a man's celebration with contests and feats of manly vanity that she would not miss. Rodney's excitement about the new Ancient outpost had intrigued her.
"I think I will welcome some time alone," she managed.
Woolsey's expression took on the same puzzlement as Jennifer's but he, too, nodded. With a last pat, he stepped back and folded his hands behind his back in passable imitation of the soldiers who still stood at attention.
Jennifer gave a soft command and John was lifted off the sticks and on to a gurney from the infirmary. The medics tugged in unison and the platform rose to waist height. Jennifer shook out a white cloth and carefully draped it over his body. She hesitated, threw another nervous look at Teyla, then gently laid the cloth over John's face.
There was absolute silence in the room. Even the ocean, lapping far below against the city, seemed to hold its restless waves for a heartbeat.
Teyla stood mute with the rest as John was escorted off the platform and into the depths of the city they called home. Ronon was gone. Rodney sat huddled on the steps, his shoulders shuddering with his grief. Teyla stood alone, only her tears revealing the anguish within.
Teyla sat curled in the chair in Jennifer's office. She had returned to her own rooms for a time after debriefing with Mr. Woolsey, exhausted and in desperate need of release. The tears had come fierce and hot, and she had slept on the sofa for a time, utterly wrung out. But when she woke, the loneliness of her apartment drove her into the halls of Atlantis, seeking the comfort of friendship.
On Athos, grief was always suffered communally. When one was lost, the whole community of family and close friends would sit with each other and tell stories, or work, or prepare the funeral feast. Her people believed in embracing grief – they did not hide from it but wailed and cursed and shook their fists at the heavens loudly...together.
The people of Earth, or those who had come to Atlantis at least, were different. Grief closed them up. Atlantis was quiet when she entered the halls at dusk, brooding. She'd passed several people in her wanderings, colleagues and casual acquaintances. Most wore an expression of stunned disbelief. Many passed by as in a daze, unaware of their surroundings.
Many others spoke to her and shared words of condolences, but there was an air of sympathy - no, of profound sympathy - as they addressed her that became more disturbing the more people she encountered.
It was as if everyone was watching her, expecting her to burst into wailing, or as if she might collapse at any moment. The feeling grew so strong that she grew more and more stubbornly determined to present an air of confidence and calm that was far from her true state. At last, she fled to the infirmary to seek Jennifer's company.
She had become close to the young doctor during the pregnancy and harrowing birth of her son. Jennifer had been patient with her questions and had explained the pregnancy and birth customs of the Earth people with no judgment. Jennifer had laughed along with her at how culture and assumptions played such an invisible part of their lives.
Jennifer was finishing up rounds, so Teyla waited, curled in the chair.
"Hey..."
Jennifer's soft greeting pulled Teyla out of reverie and she stretched as Jennifer unwound the stethoscope from her neck and tossed it aside. She, too, stretched and leaned against the desk.
"How are you doing?" she asked, and Teyla stiffened a little. Jennifer, too, radiated concern that bordered on wariness.
"As well as can be expected. My rooms are too quiet. I couldn't stay there, but I didn't know where to go. Among my people, there is always a mourning place where families and friends gather." Teyla cocked her head as curiosity consumed her. Perhaps if she understood, she wouldn't feel so uneasy. "Do your people share that custom? Do you not seek the comfort of each other when a loved one is lost?"
Jennifer looked somber and took the time to sit behind her desk before she answered. "Where I grew up, families were small, and the culture was reserved. The church ladies looked after people when a loved one died, made sure they had food when the families didn't want to cook, stuff like that. When my mom died, we had so many casseroles in the freezer, I didn't have to learn to cook for months."
"But don't you do more than offer food?"
Jennifer shrugged. "People didn't talk about death very much. At least around children. I don't know what my father said when he was at his poker game. I was taught that you were supposed to be strong, not show too much emotion. When my mom died, my dad sent me to school the next day. It was horrible. People didn't know what to say and neither did I. My teachers were great, though. I'll never forget Mr. Topilow, especially. He was this nerdy, greasy-haired reject from the sixties who taught social studies. But he looked at me when I walked into the classroom and said 'What are YOU doing here? Aren't you supposed to be crying somewhere? You mother died for goodness sake. Everybody's supposed to cry after that!"
Teyla was shocked by the story. Jennifer was looking wistful, though, so Teyla held her tongue. Eventually Jennifer went on, fiddling with her hands.
"Mr. Topilow was blunt and tactless, but he gave me permission to cry. Permission to grieve. I walked out the door and went to the counselor's office and asked to go home.
My family didn't handle death very well. I've learned better, since."
Jennifer looked up from staring at her hands, fixed Teyla with a calculating look. "Sometimes, people can't face the death of someone they love because it hurts too much. But it only hurts worse and longer, the more you put it off. I've treated many people for problems that the stress of avoiding grief has caused."
"I see this among my people, sometimes," Teyla sighed, still uncomfortable, but understanding a little more. "That is why we gather, though. To face the pain together."
"Then why aren't you with your people, Teyla?" Jennifer asked pointedly. "Why haven't you asked for your son and family to be with you? Why are you bearing this, of all things, alone?"
Teyla held her breath, feeling betrayed by the question. Did Jennifer hope Teyla would simply disappear among the Athosians until her grief was purged? Was that why everyone kept watching her? Did they fear she would do something inappropriate or uncomfortable, even though Jennifer said her way was better? Why had she never felt this way on Atlantis before? The answer brought a fresh surge of sorrow: Before, John had always been there.
When Kate had been killed by the crystal creature that invaded dreams, she'd sought out John in her despair. He'd held her and she'd wept for her loss, safe in his awkward embrace. When Carson had died, he'd helped her to the ceremony despite his reservations. And later, she in turn had consoled him in the way he needed. John had been of these people, unwilling or unable to express deep emotion, especially sorrow or fear. But he had always received her sorrow without hesitation. Was she denying herself the comfort of her family because it reminded her of the comfort she'd lost?
She admitted this could be true. And she could just almost admit that she had not asked for Kanaan to return because she would not feel as free to grieve for another man in his presence. Her feelings for John were...complicated.
"I thought I was among my people," she managed, finding the truth that she hoped would begin to explain herself to these people who seemed determined to misunderstand her. "I want to be with John's people. With those who knew and loved him best. Is that so strange?"
The answer seemed to satisfy Jennifer at least. The doctor's expression finally lost the wariness and her posture slumped, revealing exhaustion.
"I couldn't do the autopsy," Jennifer broke the silence at last and Teyla was shocked when Jennifer buried her face in her hands. "I told myself that Colonel Sheppard was just another member of the expedition. That I was helping my friends by learning more about how he died so that others wouldn't..."
Tears crawled down Teyla's cheeks again. Jennifer suddenly cursed, and angrily wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I'm sorry. Forgive me. John was a friend. A friend of a friend. I can't imagine what you must be going through. I promised myself I'd be there for you, not the other way around."
"There is no title on grief," Teyla answered, rising and reaching for Jennifer. "Please, do me the honor of sharing it with me." She heard her voice go soft and broken with her plea.
Jennifer accepted her embrace and together the two women wept, without regret, the tears of a sorrow shared.
Later that night, they stood together on the balcony of Jennifer's apartment looking out over the East Pier. A bright and very large bonfire was burning on the large plaza that often housed the Daedalus when it settled in the city. Many figures were standing around the fire, silhouetted against the warm yellow light under a perfect clear sky. The scent of smoke and the sound of crackling wood and many voices drifted through the city.
Most of the figures were grouped in quiet twos and threes. Some huddled alone until, inevitably, a friend would join them. A few were moving through the crowd in boisterous, if respectful, animation. It was beautiful, like a shadow dance – images against a screen.
"Lorne gave the entire base the night off," Jennifer said at her shoulder. "Everyone not on priority detail got a pass to attend the bonfire. I even heard some of the guys arranging turns so that those who were stuck on duty could go for part of the time."
Teyla nodded in silent approval. A new shadow joined the celebration, this one taller than most and crowned with a halo of swinging locks. Teyla smiled when Ronon grabbed for one of the quiet groups of shadows and pulled them into a ferocious embrace before fiercely shaking hands. Heads bowed in quiet words of comfort. Backs were slapped in masculine expressions of feeling.
The soldiers of Atlantis were cursing an untimely death, and celebrating a life. And they were doing it together. Teyla knew the days ahead would be miserable. She felt the burden of them like a stone around her neck. But in that quiet moment, with a friend at her side and Atlantis expressing its love for John, she could almost forget the pain she faced and live entirely within that single moment.
She was drawn out of the perfect silence by pounding on Jennifer's door. Several impatient buzzes of the chime followed. Jennifer looked alarmed and rushed to open it. Teyla turned, too, curious to know who it was that knocked so urgently.
The door had hardly slid halfway open before Rodney shoved into the room, shoulder first. He looked wildly unkempt, his clothing rumpled and his knees still stained with the chalk from the decaying outpost's stone courtyard. He waved a tablet in Jennifer's face.
"You have to examine Sheppard. Come with me!"
"Rodney?" Jennifer exclaimed, grabbing for his jacket when he seemed intent upon simply turning around and walking back out the door.
Teyla joined them, concerned for her friend who seemed so agitated. She'd sought him out earlier and found him in his lab, fiercely ignoring any intruders. She'd let him be, planning to check on him again in the morning.
"Rodeny, stop. What's going on?" Jennifer finished. Rodney chuffed an exaggerated sigh of annoyance.
"Was I not very clear? Did I not just say, 'Come with me'?"
"You were very clear about that, Rodney. Why do we need to follow you?" Teyla tried when Jennifer bristled. He looked almost startled to see her, then nodded to himself.
"Teyla, well, I don't need you, technically, although I suppose you might be interested. I do need Jennifer to help me examine Sheppard for harmonic resonance, and possibly DNA coding differences, assuming you have detailed records of Sheppard's DNA, which I'm sure you do after the whole 'turning into a bug' incident. If we're really lucky, we might just find traces of -."
"Stop!" Jennifer commanded and Rodney snapped his mouth shut, looking surprised. "I'm not examining Colonel Sheppard for anything without a reason. Dr. Morton completed the autopsy hours ago. John died of massive cellular demise. Brain, internal organs, even bone marrow was simply shut off by the radiation or energy pulse or whatever it was that hit you on that planet. There's no uncertainty here. In fact, I don't understand how the rest of you survived in the presence of something that could do what it did to John, at any proximity."
Teyla felt a chill at the description. She hadn't asked. She hadn't really needed to know.
"That's the thing," Rodney suddenly slumped and he went from manic bossiness to quiet plea, "I just finished analyzing the data from the Ancient Outpost. I didn't see it sooner because the energy readings are...incorrect, or incomplete, but it could still have the same effect."
"Rodney!" Jennifer yelled.
"The white flash we saw was what made me look harder. Jennifer, the energy pulse that the device released – it was similar to what we saw on the Lost Daedalus, the one that moved between parallel universes."
Teyla lunged forward, grabbed Rodney by the shoulders. Her heart was thrashing in her chest and she forced herself not to assume, not to hope. Rodney just looked pitiful.
"I want to examine Sheppard because... I think he might not be our Sheppard. I think he may have come from another universe, transferred here in the uncontrolled pulse from that damaged device at the outpost." Rodney turned to Jennifer. "Please, Jennifer. Will you help me examine the...body for evidence? Because if I'm right -."
"Our John might still be alive," Teyla finished.
"Trapped in another universe. Swapped, maybe. Jennifer?" Rodney repeated and this time Teyla added her gaze to the plea. Jennifer looked skeptical, worried, and scared all at the same time, but finally she nodded.
"I'll help," she said, but then her expression settled on stern, "but you both have to promise that you'll accept my evidence if things don't go as you hope. And you can't say anything to anyone else. Not until we're certain."
"Of course!" Teyla agreed, eager to get moving. The bonfire and despair was too easily forgotten. Atlantis had come through with a miracle after all! She could feel it. Rodney was so seldom wrong.
"Let's go," she exclaimed, shoving Rodney out the door. Rodney also grinned, but Jennifer's frown deepened. Teyla looked away. She wouldn't let the woman's skepticism interfere with hope. She couldn't. Because giving in to doubt would be to admit that John was really gone.