Title: Coming to Terms
Author: Jammeke
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Rating: K+
Summary: Maybe she would have agreed. Maybe she wouldn't have. It didn't matter anymore, did it? It's not like he could ask her now. He would never get a chance to ask her anything again in his life.
Coming to Terms
"You can't honestly believe that."
John stopped typing. "Believe what?"
"That she's . . ." Rodney made an impatient gesture with his right hand, the left one tightening around the Ancient tablet he'd been studying for the last couple of hours. "You know . . ."
"Why don't you enlighten me?"
It was two a.m. in the morning. The hallways and corridors of Atlantis were empty and with the exception of the Control Room and Rodney's lab, every room in the city was quiet and dark.
The lights in Rodney's lab were usually on during the late hours; working overnight was something Rodney could have invented had he been born centuries earlier. Anyone walking by his lab at night would find the scientist hunched over a device he'd recently discovered, or cursing at his many laptops for being too slow.
Tonight was no different. Except . . . John was down in Rodney's lab as well, staring at the screen of laptop four. Feeling pretty awake actually, though his eyes seemed to have a different definition of the word awake, for they kept falling shut. And apparently, his brain hadn't received the memo to stay awake either. He suspected Rodney's voice was the only thing keeping his brain from shutting off completely at the moment. It wouldn't be the first time. John had lost count of how many times the scientist had talked him out of a coma. The man simply refused to accept the possibility that John might slip away from him.
This was why . . . he knew exactly what Rodney was trying to say to him. The scientist would never admit it out loud – would probably never show any obvious signs of affection towards his friends either – but John knew the man cared deeply for them on some level of his overactive brain. The fact that the people he cared for could leave him, by walking out or doing something as pointless and drastic as dying, scared the scientist more than he cared to admit.
Despite knowing what Rodney was trying to tell him, John wanted the man to say it out loud. If he allowed the scientist to ramble, the man might eventually convince him of the point he was trying to make. So he simply looked at Rodney and waited for the man to answer his question.
Rodney's face displayed an interesting set of emotions, ranging from grief to sympathy to determination. "You can't believe that she's . . . gone."
John turned his back on his team mate again. Well, so much for convincing him. For a scientist, Rodney gave surprisingly little information to back up his theories sometimes, always under the assumption everyone would take his word for it anyway. Most people did, intimidated as they were by the man's hand gestures, his impatient little noises, his smug and utterly self-confident expression and his convincing tone. Most people, however, had not been around when the incident on Doranda took place.
"She's still out there," Rodney said quietly.
"Of course she is. We blasted her Replicator body out into space."
John could practically feel Rodney wince at his harsh words. He'd flinch at them himself if he hadn't been repeating them to himself for months, if his brain and body hadn't been too consumed by guilt and grief to react to them anymore.
"Look," Rodney tried again, and John sighed.
"Rodney, just . . . don't."
"I have to," Rodney protested. "Because if you, John Sheppard, the intergalactic optimist, give up hope – then someone needs to step in to fill your shoes."
John ripped his gaze away from the Word document he'd been staring at for the last couple of hours. "You really believe that she's still alive? That you can . . . I don't know, rewire her brain somehow? Upload her consciousness into another body?"
"I do." Rodney's voice wavered slightly.
John slammed his fist down on the keyboard of his laptop, causing several pop ups to appear at once. He furiously started clicking them away. "Then get a goddamn Jumper and bring her home."
It was quiet for a while. Then, in a soft voice, "Do you want to leave right now?"
"Yes. No – God." John burrowed his head in his hands. "No."
"You don't want to retrieve her?" McKay said disbelievingly.
"I don't." John lifted his head from his hands. "She's gone." Gone, gone, gone . . .
"She's not –"
"Damn it, McKay, stop lying to me." John looked Rodney straight in the eye. "Stop lying to yourself."
"I'm not . . . I just – I don't understand why we . . . I mean, how could we –"
"I've been asking myself the same thing."
"No, but how could we? I mean – I know why we did it, obviously, but . . . we could've gone back to save her. She wasn't like the others, she wasn't a threat to anyone. We could've . . . you know, back when she still stood a chance. When her mind, her consciousness . . . when it, she –"
"Elizabeth," John offered.
"Right. When Elizabeth was still alive." Rodney was quiet for a few seconds. "Why didn't we?"
John sighed. "You just asked me that."
"I know."
"We were following orders," John said, feeling numb. Following orders. As if he'd never defied orders before. "We agreed it was the right thing to do. We knew it was the right thing to do."
"At the time."
"Yeah."
Rodney pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. "Maybe it was," he said carefully, sitting down. "She would have wanted us to."
John munched his lower lip. He didn't want to go there. He didn't deserve to believe they'd done what they should have done – or worse, that she would have wanted them to kill her. He didn't deserve the peace of mind that came with accepting his own actions.
Maybe she would have agreed. Maybe she wouldn't have. It didn't matter anymore, did it? It's not like he could ask her now. He would never get a chance to ask her anything again in his life.
"So why don't you want to pick her up?" Rodney's voice shook him out of his thoughts. "If she truly is . . . harmless now, Woolsey won't mind retrieving the body."
"Body?"
"Yes, her body." To his credit, Rodney didn't sound as irritated as he usually did when John made him repeat stuff.
"Cause that's all it is, right? A body. An empty shell."
"What?" Rodney sputtered. "I can't believe you just said that. You of all people. You make a point of dragging every dead person back through the Gate to Atlantis. You always collect the dog tags of the ones you can't bring back. John . . . this is Elizabeth we're talking about. Elizabeth."
"No, it's not." Again, John didn't even flinch at the harshness of his own words. "It's just a bunch of nanites." He closed his eyes. "Elizabeth's body was destroyed two years ago." God, but that sentence would never stop hurting.
John didn't say anything, but he could swear he could feel his friend's hand ghosting just above his left shoulder. Briefly. Just for a second. Then, the feeling disappeared.
"How's it going with the . . ."
John looked at the screen of the laptop again – one of Rodney's many laptops, the one he'd been working on for hours now. "Bad."
"Oh."
John leaned back in his chair and read what he'd typed down so far. "She was much better at this than I am."
Rodney cleared his throat. "She would have wanted you to do it."
She would have wanted . . . She would have . . . She . . . She would never want anything again.
"Want me to go?"
"No." John turned his head to the side and met Rodney's gaze. His friend's face looked strangely blurry.
Realizing what that meant, John started blinking furiously. Rodney, too, appeared to have something in his eye all of a sudden.
"Stay."
Rodney stared at him for a moment longer, as if to confirm his presence was truly wanted here. Then, he nodded, and went back to scrutinizing the Ancient tablet some more – the tablet that was made for decoration only. John had heard the scientist confirm that fact to Zelenka the other day.
John didn't mind that his friend pretended to be busy. Rodney McKay could be there for him in two ways. If he tried to be there for him in the true sense of the word, they usually ended up starting at each other awkwardly. However, if Rodney was simply there, studying something or making things work, hands and mouth constantly moving . . . well, then that was a different matter entirely. John found the scientist's presence oddly soothing, especially when his annoyed little noises weren't directed directly at him. The man radiated familiarity.
Both men were bad at talking feelings. But that was alright, because they could suck at it together. Besides, John mused, as he thought about Ronon's approach to emotional situations, Teyla had more than enough diplomatic skills to compensate for the rest of the team.
He concentrated on the screen of his laptop again and with Elizabeth's, the real Elizabeth's, his Elizabeth's face in mind, he started typing.
oOo
Mrs Weir,
My name is John Sheppard. I used to work with your daughter on a daily basis. I consider myself fortunate to have known and worked with Elizabeth.
The last time I wrote a message to you directly, I informed you your daughter had gone MIA. It is with deep regret that I have to inform you we now know your daughter died in the field a few weeks ago.
I am not at liberty to reveal the cause of her death, but I think you should know that Elizabeth Weir died bravely while defending others. I owe my life to your daughter and I know of many people who are alive today because of her actions.
I wish I could tell you to keep believing, Mrs. Weir, and I wish there was something I could do to make this easier for you. I know you may not want to hear this right now, but I still believe . . . I believe your daughter is in a happier place now.
My sincere condolences,
Lt. Colonel John Sheppard
oOo
fin