Written for the Apocalypse Kree! 2014 challenge. Previously posted on AO3.
Premise: Anubis succeeds with his plan to control the device on Dakara, changing the face of the Milky Way, but Pegasus and Atlantis survives. So does the people the SGC managed to evacuate to Atlantis, including an injured Sam. Now she must find a way to move on...with a little help.
TO FIND OUR WAY
by neela
Sam ran through the forest. Branches and twigs whipped in her face as she pushed through the undergrowth. Her muscles trembled from exertion, and her lungs constricted with each staggering step.
A red bolt shot past her, digging into a tree trunk to her left. She didn't pause to look back. If she did, she'd only see the Kull Warrior again. Tall, dark, relentless, and packing enough weapons to blast her to hell and back. Instead, she picked up the pace.
Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't stop now.
"Uh!"
Her pants snagged on a protruding branch, causing her to lurch forward. It took precious time to roll over and yank herself free. The pants wouldn't come loose. She tugged her leg back and forth until the cameo-coloured material tore. Pain shot down her thigh and she gritted her teeth.
Another red bolt hit the ground next to her head.
Damnit, Carter! Get your ass moving!
She got to her feet and ran. The forest thickened around her. Its green walls seemed to close in on her. She heaved for breath. Her whole body ached; her head throbbed, and her blood roared in her ears.
You're almost there. Keep going!
Suddenly, a stream of light flashed in her eyes. She blinked, paused for a second, and the third bolt hit her straight in the left shoulder.
"Agh!"
Pain exploded outwards. A searing, burning kind of pain that she'd felt before, and yet not. She clutched her left arm tightly, her teeth gritted, and willed the pain away.
The bushes behind her stirred and she stared straight into the dark, lifeless eyes of the Kull Warrior. It raised its arm, the energy weapon pointed between her eyes.
Sam rolled as the fourth and fifth shot fired. She felt the hot air above her head and continued to roll. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. The pain was momentarily forgotten. She had to get out of there.
You've got to survive this! They're looking for you.
She rolled through a bush and suddenly dropped. A long, rocky hill descended beneath her, making her roll faster and faster until her head spun. She crashed into something hard and jagged at the bottom, and cried out in pain. Stars appeared before her eyes as she opened them.
Far up above her on the top of the hill, the Kull Warrior looked down, its weapon still trained at her. It took a heartbeat to fire the sixth shot.
This time, there was no Colonel O'Neill to save her. The Kull Warrior didn't miss. Her vision went completely dark.
When she opened her eyes, she wasn't in Kansas anymore. The room she was in was neither the Air Force hospital in Colorado Springs nor the SGC infirmary. It wasn't of Goa'uld design either. The closest she could describe it to was the Antarctica base, which meant…
"Colonel Carter." A dark-haired woman stepped into her line of sight.
"Dr Weir?" Sam's voice croaked, dry and parched. She grimaced and tried to move, but Weir held her down and offered her a cup of water with a straw in it. She drank, the liquid cool in her throat, and sank back in the bed, feeling exhausted. "Where am I?"
"Atlantis," Weir said, putting the cup back on a bedside table. She looked anxious, tense, and worried. "You were shot, Colonel. You've been in a coma for two weeks."
"Why am I here?" Sam's eyes felt heavy. It was a struggle just to keep them open, but she couldn't drift off yet. There was an air of foreboding about Dr Weir, who didn't respond. Sam's heart began to race. "Dr Weir? Why am I here?"
Eying the quickening heartbeat monitor, the other woman sighed. "You should get some rest, Colonel. Carson."
Weir stepped back, gesturing to a man who appeared at Sam's side immediately with a syringe. "This is just a little sedative," the man explained, inserting the syringe into her IV. "You need to heal, Colonel."
"No, I—I—"
But she was already drifting off into the darkness again.
Only when Carson deemed her ready did Weir tell Sam the truth. SG-1 was gone. Earth was gone. The Milky Way galaxy was gone. All that remained of the human race was here in Pegasus, far from the reaches of the Dakara device that Anubis had used to wipe out the rest. If it hadn't been for a divine heads-up from Daniel, the SGC wouldn't have been able to evacuate as many people to Atlantis as they had.
But even those remaining were in danger of disappearing now that a native enemy called the Wraith had been reawakened. Two of their ships were headed for Atlantis even now, a third having been taken down by a defence satellite the day before.
It was too much for Sam to take in. She stared blankly at Weir, the enormity of it all diminished to something specific she could handle. "What will you do?"
Weir gave a tense smile. "Before the connection to the SGC was cut, they managed to ship out a few more companies of soldiers. They've brought railguns and ammunition to hold the Wraith off until the Prometheus and Daedalus show up with the ZPM, along with the SGC's entire stock of emergency supplies." She paused. "I'm hopeful we'll live through this."
As it turned out, they did, by a hair's breadth.
But it didn't change the fact that their friends and family were still dead in a galaxy they would no longer recognise if they returned. Lying in her infirmary bed during the siege of Atlantis, Sam realised that for the first time in her life, she was truly alone.
She was angry. It was easy to spot. These days, John saw it everywhere. Even two months after That Day, he got reports of people who suddenly burst into fits of physical violence. Some of them attacked others. Others attacked the walls, the shooting targets, the Wraith…
Samantha Carter attacked that punching bag like there was no tomorrow. She came to the gym at least three times a day since she'd been released from the infirmary, with one session at night when everyone else had gone to bed.
It'd been mere chance that John discovered this. He'd had one of his usual sleepless nights and decided to go for a run around the city. The trek had taken him past the gym, where the sounds of someone yelling had drawn his attention. When he peeked inside the gym, Carter was kicking the bag, red-faced and yelling.
He'd been about to talk to her when she'd suddenly dropped to her knees, gloved hands over her face, her yells turning into sobs. Stunned, John hadn't moved from his spot for a long while, not until her sobs had turned into new yells and new energy.
That night, he'd left her alone. But something in him had changed when he realised that the famous Carter of SG-1 that Rodney went on about was just as human as everyone else.
Tonight, he'd made a choice.
"Can't sleep either?" John crossed the threshold of the gym and dropped his gym bag on the floor with a loud racket.
Wide-eyed and panting from her exertion, Carter startled and spun around. It took a moment before she relaxed a fraction and shook her head. "Too wired."
She turned back to the punching bag, but her jabs seemed a little less forceful and more conscious of his presence. Like she was holding back, hiding.
"Mind if I join you?" John asked, stepping closer.
She looked at him across her shoulder, sizing him up and down, before she nodded and stepped back, letting him hold the punching bag still. Once he gave the signal, she began to attack it once more.
John oomphed as the bag reverberated with the force of her punch. "Man, you've got a mean left."
It didn't award him a smile like he'd hoped. Her eyes were dead set on the bag, making John hold back a sigh. He let her have at it for a couple of minutes, staying quiet but observant. Eventually, he said, "You need to move your feet more. You're too heavy on your left."
Carter blew a hard breath but, surprisingly, did as he said without any comment. That action made John smile inwardly.
It became a routine. At nights, John showed up and held that bag for her. No one knew. During the day, they barely interacted. They passed each other in the hallways, sat on opposite sides of the mess hall, and stuck to polite nods.
He didn't know exactly why they did it, keeping it a secret, but it felt like he'd sworn a sacred oath that first night he'd stepped into the gym after seeing her break down. Whatever happened in there stayed there. It seemed like she knew that too.
Soon, John stopped simply holding the punching bag. At the end of the first week, they'd started trading blows, skipping around each other and testing each other's guards. There were no mentions of ranks beyond an occasional taunt or tease thrown into the trash talk, just a shared desire to march on and to forget the world for a moment.
By the second week, Carter had become more nimble on her feet. The first time she managed to knock him on his ass, she almost grinned and a shadow seemed to have lifted from her eyes. John took that as a victory and ignored his bruised ego. After all, she had a wonderful smile. Infectious and brilliant.
As the workouts continued, he aimed to bring out that smile of hers as often as he could. He was partly successful. When she didn't let herself relinquish her airtight control, she was fiercer than before. Like she was punishing herself. A feeling John recognised all too well…
He'd let his mate down in Afghanistan. He'd awakened the Wraith. He'd killed Sumner. Friendly fire had gained an entirely new meaning for him. He'd sworn it wouldn't happen again. And then there was Aidan Ford, who he'd failed miserably…
Seeing Carter at her fiercest only made John want to do something good for a change. If he could help her, then maybe… Maybe he could get rid of that hollow feeling in his chest.
Sometime during the fourth week of their nightly workouts, John suggested she try her hand with the Athosian bantos rods.
"Bantos rods?" Carter asked, bringing a towel up to wipe the sweat off her face and neck. She wore only a tank top and shorts, revealing the still-healing, star-shaped scar on her chest where the Kull Warrior had hit her. The sight always made John uneasy.
"Athosian style-fighting. Teyla introduced them." John went over to one of the racks in the gym and picked up a pair, then showed them to her.
Carter froze. A flash of pain rushed through her eyes.
"What?" John asked, frowning. He recognised that look. Sometimes during the day, when she didn't know he saw her standing alone on one of the balconies, he saw it on her face. "Worked with them before?"
"No," Carter said quickly, turning away. She flung her towel on top of the rest of her things. "Just..." She sighed and started to pack up her stuff. "It's nothing. But I think it's time for bed. Got a meeting with Caldwell early in the morning."
A little put down, John returned the bantos rods to the rack and turned back to see Carter pulling on an Air Force PT sweater. "You thinking of joining Daedalus?"
"Maybe," Carter said without looking at him.
"You don't miss being on a team?" John watched her, tense, knowing it was probably still touchy waters, but he really wanted to know. There'd been an idea niggling at the back of his mind for the past few weeks. "AR-3's got an opening…"
"I—" Carter's voice cut off thickly. Her head sank low. "…I can't."
"It's okay. I get it." John ran a hand awkwardly through his hair.
Slowly, Carter turned her head so that their eyes met. Hers were blank and vulnerable; something broke in him.
"You miss your team," John said quietly, half-statement, half-question. He recalled that first night he'd found her here: a hotpot of anger, frustration and grief. Those feelings were still there beneath her surface, fully visible in her eyes; threatening to break through the wall she'd erected around herself.
Carter closed her teary eyes and turned away from him again. "I need to go. Good night, Sheppard."
"John."
She stopped and looked back at him, a myriad of emotions splayed across her face. John waited with bated breath, not taking his eyes off hers, hoping she understood what he was offering, hoping she wouldn't reject it.
"Sam," Carter said and left without another word.
She didn't smile, but she didn't need to; John's own smirk was enough.
It felt like the start of something new. Something good.