A/N: And we are back! \o/

However, due to my inability and hate of having to write action and fight scenes, this might not actually live up to expectations. I honestly just suck at writing unarmed combat and especially non-traditionally forms of combat like fighting with bantos rods. I really hope it's not too boring and rushed but oh God, how I hate writing that. The only reason I did do it was that it wouldn't have worked any other way so there.

Also, due to the inevitable first days of fall head cold, I also most probably sucked at editing this but I really wanted to get it out ASAP, so I'm really sorry for all mistakes I overlooked in the editing process :S

A City Full of Lights

"I'm backing up the lorry, can't wait for night to come
I'm sweeping out the backyard on a Friday afternoon
We'll gather round the players and we'll head off for the stars
Pack the van with poetry, drums and the guitars

We'll take Billy for the whisky, Willie for the door
We'll take Mary Kate and Lizzy for the dancing round the floor
We'll turn this empty hall into a city full of lights
And lift the summer spirits through the passing of the night."

Runrig, "The Place Where The Rivers Run"

One

Reece

This is kinda ridiculous. It's only been five days since we mopped up the last Wraith remnants in this city we had to date, and I still feel kind of hungover from four days nearly without sleep and a lot of combat. Command had all Atlantis personnel that contributed to the fighting and the following mop up operations and getting the city back into at least some semblance of order in the five days since we apparently fooled the Wraith into thinking we destroyed the city stand-down for the last two days, claiming we deserved some much needed rest. And yet here I am, wired enough to feel the need to burn off a kind of weird nervous energy.

I can't believe that after over a week of combat and the stress of constant alertness and wishing I could just sit down for a moment, I seem to feel unable to do exactly that the moment I'm finally allowed to. Maybe my head just got used to a constantly high level of stress and now can't come down off it or something but I think I really need to do something or I'll go stir-crazy.

So after catching up on my lack of sleep – I did spent most of the explosion thing and the ten hours afterwards dead asleep but apparently, that wasn't enough – and trying to sit in front of my open windows and use the free time to read through my one-year backlog of professional correspondence and academic journals from Earth in the light breeze in my miraculously still intact quarters for the last three hours, I finally give up, put on PT gear and make my way to the work-out room.

God, I hope none of those Marines that came over with Colonel Everett are in there. I still harbor a lot of resentment for their inability to just follow a goddamn order if it didn't come directly from Colonel Everett. And yes, I know that that's unprofessional, especially now that I have apparently made it into the hallowed halls of captaincy but fuck, it got people killed.

Sadly, the damn work-out room is full of those fucking Marines and I'm just not in the mood for grunts and male twenty-somethings showing off just how buff they are, never mind me being a twenty-something. So I take the next best option, which is the dojo part of the work-out room where we train for unarmed combat, do yoga, you know what I mean. I'm not really in the right headspace for yoga right now but oh yeah, bantos rods. That would actually work. Huh.

Thankfully, we decided to keep a couple pairs here after Teyla and a few other Athosians started giving lessons to everyone interested. After seeing what especially Teyla could do with a pair of wooden sticks, I decided that I was definitely interested, and I learned how to fight with them passably well and how to do solo routines for focus and flexibility. And since no one else is here, solo routine it is.

After warming up and stretching, I start with a slower routine, to work out some of the kinks left over from clearing up the city for several days straight and when I feel ready, I launch into a faster routine, a series of kicks and… what is he doing here?

And why couldn't I just ignore him and keep going on, instead of kind of clumsily stopping mid-routine and staring at him like a deer in headlights?

Of course, he can't just get the hell out of here, either, instead looks at me with his eyebrows raised and says, "Sticks? That's new, Lieutenant."

"Captain." Now he's the one blinking at me, and yeah, I did it again. Opened my mouth before thinking. But yeah, now that it's out there, anyway… "It's still… Captain now. Sir."

He blinks exactly one more time, then shakes his head and says, "Right, yeah. Captain." And then, because he's an asshole like that, he apparently just has to add, "As soon as it's confirmed, anyway."

This is the guy who gave me his Captain's bars – through a messenger, like some goddamn coward – with the words "Expect to see them on your shoulders soon as I see you again". "Battlefield promotions don't need to be confirmed." Aren't you forgetting something, Captain? "Sir."

"Battlefield promotions are for enlisted Marines and basically don't exist anymore." I hate it when he suddenly remembers all that red tape we all thought he'd forgotten. Because he only ever remembers it to win a damn argument.

And for some reason, I'm really not in the mood for arguments with one Major Thomas Moore, anyway. I try very hard not to roll my eyes and sigh. "What do you want, sir?"

He shrugs, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, looking so much like the man I knew at the SGC, you know, the guy whose alternate version I once kissed, that it hurts. I missed this man, and now that he's here, I have no idea how to react to him. "Too many damn twenty-somethings grunting in the work-out room."

If we were back at the SGC now, instead of Atlantis, and if it hadn't for an entire year of no contact, I'd probably laugh now, at least a little. As it is, I kind of feel at a loss of words. "Sir?"

Pushing off from the doorframe, he gestures vaguely to the middle of the room. "Someone told me there's a sandbag hanging around somewhere in here."

Ah, yeah, right. It's only been five days since he got here, and he's already making himself at home. I just wish I knew how to feel about the prospect of serving and living in the same city as Thomas Moore.

Maybe just answering his question could be a start, though. "Over there to your right, sir."

He just nods, walking in and passing me by and… stopping to turn around and say, "Say, is there a problem, Reece?"

Uh, what? "No, sir. No problem."

"Weird." Oh no. I know that demonstratively measured, casual tone. "Could've sworn that I did something wrong and you were judging me for it. But sure, if you say there's no problem…"

Oh for fuck's sake. "There is no issue whatsoever, sir. Now, if you don't mind, I'd really like to get back to what I was doing."

He doesn't, of course. Instead of just walking on and beating the crap out of that poor battered sandbag hanging in the back of the dojo, he just stands there, his head angled a little to the right, his eyes narrowed and… and then a small laugh, more of a snort, actually. "Fuck, I don't believe this." What? What? "You're spoiling for a fight, Kid."

Goddammit. That nickname was one of the reasons I left the SGC. Because I actually started liking it, and that's when I knew that I was headed somewhere I really didn't want to go. Which is also why I'm pretty much ashamed that the damn You did good today, Kid post-it from five days ago still hasn't made into the trash.

Also, he's not even wrong. Maybe, a minute ago or so, I would still have managed to credibly deny that assumption – even though he'd still have been right, if I'm being honest – but after that… dammit.

I can still try, though, right? "No, sir. Just doing a few routines for flexibility and focus. Now, if you'll excuse…"

"You. Are. Spoiling. For a fight." There's no need to spell it out twice, thank you very much. "That's fine, Kid. Unexpected, but fine." What is that even supposed to mean? "You need a partner?"

No, goddammit. I scowl at him. "What I need, sir, is space and quiet to just get through my routine in peace."

He snorts again, not really with humor. "No. You really need a fight." I do. Fuck, I do need a fight. That's why I came down here. That's why I couldn't really concentrate on doing my solo routine. Because I was missing someone to beat the crap out of. And I hate him for seeing through me like that, after a year of not talking, not even seeing each other. "I know everyone thinks I'm mostly useless at reading people and I agree. But I do know someone spoiling for a fight when I see them." Fuck. "Come on, show me what you can do with those sticks."

I work very hard not to grind my teeth. "Bantos rods."

He raises an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Bantos rods, sir. That's what the Athosians call them." This is the first time I catch myself regretting Command's decision to postpone the newbie introduction briefings until after the bulk of the regular new contingent arrives with the Daedalus in a couple weeks. I just really wish I wouldn't have to give an impromptu one to my former boss right now.

In fact, I wish I wouldn't have to be anywhere close to my former boss right now, period. Pity I can't tell him so outright because that would lead to all kinds of uncomfortable and awkward questions, and I have a feeling that neither of us is in the mood for that.

He shrugs again. "Whatever. Let's see what you can do with them."

Fine. I don't care. Whatever. It's me shrugging now and twirling the bantos rods in my hands just once – and being really lucky because just for once I get it right instead of embarrassing myself – before nodding towards the cabinet where we keep a few practice sets behind him. "Just grab a set, sir."

Shit. Just when he turns around to get himself a pair of bantos rods, I realize why this was a terrible idea. Because a) he's still a Special Tactics Officer who's really good at what he does which also includes being an expert in several forms of armed and unarmed combat and being able to adapt very fast to new fighting styles and b) he's still a really attractive man, now with an added tan he must have acquired at Area 51 and something I can't quite define. Something about the way he holds himself, like he went through Hell and came out alive at the other end and knows it and…

And oh good, now he can twirl the damn things like he was born to wield them, despite never having even touched them until this moment. And looking so damn good while doing it. I'm doomed. "Okay," he says, testing the rods' weight and feel a little more, "any rules I need to know, Captain?"

Points for not calling me Lieutenant. Again. But that's the only thing he gets points for, really. "Nothing that gets blood on the mats." Or any bones broken but something tells me he knows enough about SGC doctors to do everything to avoid impairing someone's combat readiness. "Sergeant who takes care of the dojo is a bit anal about that."

And also… in critical condition in the infirmary. Shit, I really need to work on keeping everyone's post siege status straight.

He just nods. "Okay, fair enough." Then he grins. He actually grins and I just hate him even more for that. "Now, show me what you got."

Okay, then. I know it's probably stupid, considering that he's taller and stronger than me and has more reach, but I'm not in the mood for finesse, so after circling around the mats for a minute or so, just to see how serious he is about fighting, I decide to be the one to throw the first punch and raise the bantos rods for an attack from above.

Like I expected it, he immediately moves one of his up to block but sadly uses the other to block any possible kicks from below. Damn, there goes that tactic. Fine, let's go for his unprotected flank with a rod and a twist, using the momentum he had to build up to block. Sadly, it doesn't hit him but it made him stumble, and trust me, against this guy, that's a win.

I try to build up speed, attacking him from two sides with my rods but damn, I'm not fast enough to get one in between his parries. And just when I realize what he's been doing – watching me move and studying this fight before making his move – he changes the beat and just sidesteps one of my attacks instead of parrying, getting in my back and swiping my legs from under me, making me land on my damn back. Fuck.

"Damn," I hear him say, and the most vexing thing is the honest approval in his voice when he adds, "you are good at this."

I know I probably should just keep my mouth shut, considering that it was a pretty hard landing. And yet, I can't help pressing out, "Funny, sir. Really funny," because honestly, what? He just kicked my ass at the first time he ever did this, and he has the gall to tell me that I'm "good" at this?

I'm actually a little pissed – and also need another moment to catch my breath – to get right up but that just makes him crouch next to me, his arms resting on his knees, shaking his head. "No, really. You're pretty badass at this, Kid. I just got lucky is all." Got lucky, my ass. I get up into a sitting position, glaring at him, which, apparently, he takes as an invitation to grin and say, sounding scarily eager, "Another round?"

I keep glaring. "You bet your ass another round. Sir."

"Awesome," is what he says and then takes the rods in one hand while offering me the other to help me get up. Oh, fine.

I let him pull me up, and we get back to circling and probing. And then he just goes and adds another difficulty level: conversation. "But seriously, Kid, I really gotta ask: you honestly think that promotion's gonna stick?"

What kind of question is that, anyway? I go for a low attack, replying, "Yes, sir," between clenched teeth.

He parries, twisting and probing with a counterattack that lacks seriousness. "I wasn't kidding. You know as well as I that field promotions are an enlisted thing." So what? And damn, I actually missed a good opportunity to retaliate. Okay, just keep looking for a hole in his defense. "Why do you think they're gonna give it to you?"

And there it is. Telling him, dead serious, "Because John fucking Sheppard says so, that's why," I duck his swipe at me and take the opportunity to swat him in the back, making him stumble.

He recovers remarkably fast, returning to twirling his rods once, twice, while leading me in another circling and probing dance. "What is it about that guy, anyway? I did my homework, Kid. He nearly washed out after some stunt down in the Stan."

I roll my eyes. What? He's not my boss right now, we're in an informal setting and he started that conversation, after all. "He never leaves a man behind, sir. That's why he nearly washed out." And with that, I'm about to launch another attack at him but he just… stops. Just stops moving and lowers his arms and um, "What? Why did you stop fighting?"

He just shakes his head. "Fight's over, Kid. Got some work to do." With that, he turns his back to me, his rods both in one hand, clearly planning to put them back in the cabinet.

Uh. We clearly weren't finished here? I blink. "What, why…" And blink again. Because something clicks, and before I know it, the words, "You left her behind," are out of my mouth.

He stops, once again, his back to me. Then turns around, facing me, all cockiness having leaked out of him, leaving someone behind I don't recognize. "Kid."

I know I should just shut the fuck up and maybe even apologize but for some reason this is the moment when, for the first time, it fully registers with me that Laura Greenspan is dead. She's not coming here. Not with the next Daedalus wave, not ever. She's gone. And something in that makes me forget common sense, decency, and the promise I made to Dee not even a week ago. Because I finally realized something else. "You left her behind." I know I just should leave it at that but I just can't help it. I even find myself pointing one of my rods at him, closing the distance between him and me, step by step. "You left her behind."

He doesn't even raise his rods. Or get in a defensive position. In fact, he just shakes his head, to utter a low, "I…" and nothing after that.

And something in that makes me irrationally angry. I narrow my eyes, now close enough in distance to kick his ass, and definitely close enough in emotion to actually go through with that. "Say it's not true."

I want him to say that. Honest to God, I want nothing more than to hear him deny it, tell me it wasn't him, it didn't happen, not like that at least, just any denial will do. Instead, shakes his head again. "Kid, I just wish…"

Goddammit. Something in me just snaps and next thing I know, I'm battling him again, throwing out attacks like candy, making him back up until he's almost with his back to the wall and I realize that the only reason I haven't yet landed on my back again is that he's fighting back not even half as hard as he could. And that makes me so damn angry. "Fight back! Just damn well fight back, you coward!" I don't even know where that was coming from but fucking hell why doesn't he fight back?

He still doesn't and that's how he ends up with his back to the wall and my bantos rods crossed at his throat and both of us breathing hard and in a corner of my mind I wonder why he even broke a sweat when he wasn't working that hard in the first place and that's what makes me stop and look and realize the full extent of what I just did.

I broke my promise to Dee. I gave the Major crap about Laura's death, when I had no right to do that and when I, from the look of him – like he's right in his own personal hell right now – ripped open a wound that wasn't even semi-healed in the first place.

Because he really does believe that it was his fault. It doesn't even matter what happened because he's convinced that it's his fault, and his alone. I don't even have to know the full story, I just have to look at him right in this moment and somehow know that there's only one person Thomas Moore blames from Laura's death, and that's himself.

I… don't deserve to be here. I can't be here. I just… I need to go.

Fucking hell.

Not a cliffhanger!

Not a real one, anyway.

Okay, maybe it is a cliffhanger.

Ugh.

I'm sorry!