A/N: I admit to being creeped out by Dead!Team on the episode. But, dude, they moved their bodies. Eep!
o-O-o-O-o-O-o
Ronon
When I entered the room, the last thing I wanted to see was my body, peacefully resting on the cold hard floor. I always knew for sure I would die in battle. Yet, there I am, flat on my back and no gun in my hand.
Did I fall asleep? How long did I hold out? Did McKay die first?
As soon as the question crossed my mind, I knew it wasn't true. With the sheer amount of stubbornness McKay possessed, I think he would have tried to fix things for as long as he could.
Who knows... Maybe I was the first to go.
Lifting my cold body – his cold body – I carry him over to the small room Sheppard designated as a morgue. It was still very cold inside, and it was likely they would preserve well. No telling how long they'd been dead; their bodies were practically frozen anyway. There was no smell of death anywhere on the ship.
I arrange his body in the Satedan tradition, forcing his hands open to hold his gun and sword in place over his heart. My hand wandered up to my own hair, loosing a small knife. Placing it between gun and sword, I whisper a word in a long-dead language as a farewell.
Sheppard is saluting the soldier below him. Something dark stirs behind those eyes, then disappears. He is the only person I can't get a bead on. As soon as Sheppard's hand snaps downward, his face is closed and impassive. The other Sheppard looks younger and at peace; even in death he still has that smirk. The other Sheppard died where this Sheppard would likely die: in the sky.
Shifting between realities has me on edge. To know that I didn't die fighting, makes me feel...
This is not how I will die. This is how he died.
I didn't know about his life; maybe he was a Runner once, too. Maybe he led a completely different life. Maybe he didn't.
McKay would say there were too many variables, too many possibilities. One thing was for sure, I can't let this affect me.
This is not how I will die.
o-O-o-O-o-O-o
Teyla
I feel the cold edges of the gun as my fingers tighten around it. Never have I seen, or been faced, with my own mortality more than this moment. I have encountered death so many times, and in so many ways, it is hard to believe I merely starved or fell asleep in the cold.
She died with her team. She chose to be here.
Did she have a son? Rodney mentioned some realities might be the opposite of our own. Perhaps she had a daughter, one who would become the proud leader of her people.
Lifting her body, I study her garments. I recall wanting to buy a similar shirt on M39-2XF. A planet most called Rezoria, where the largest continent held a marketplace. I did not buy the garment because the merchant wanted too much for it.
I watch the others gently handle the bodies of their counterparts. While Ronon appears to handle this the best, John and Rodney are pale and unnerved – John, I think worst of all. Rodney mumbled about a tablet computer, and looked as though stuck by an epiphany. He rushed to deposit the body so that he could retrieve the other Rodney's research.
Sometimes Rodney is hard to understand; John seems to understand him, and will even answer with ease. Right now, I do not think John is listening. He gently lay his burden down, straightening the man's uniform, adjusting the dog tags around his neck. John then stepped back, his body rigid, shoulders straight. He raised his hand, long fingers stiff, just over his brow. John Sheppard saluted the fallen soldiers this way more than a few times. Was this different for him?
Those normally lively green eyes are now dark and cold when he turns to me. He suddenly composes himself, ready for the next challenge.
Looking down at a body all too familiar, I press my forehead down to hers. I wish her journey to the Ancestors pleasant, and that her life would be remembered by her people. If she had offspring, they would be raised in the Athosian tradition for orphans, learning from their elders. But I hope if there were children, there would be a father.
The sudden sadness I feel must be banished. This Teyla lived her life as she wished, the way she needed to live. She died with her team, her adopted family.
I know right at this moment, I – we – made the right choice.
o-O-o-O-o-O-o
Rodney
Right now, I can honestly say, this is the worst day of my life. Jeannie and Rod together, notwithstanding. I am dragging my own dead body into another room.
Disgusting.
I realize it's not really my body, but he's got my face. Maybe a little heavier than me, especially in the face, I think. I hope his mind isn't as soft as his body. I'm not that pale, am I? He's dead, I get that. But I wonder how long.
What would be really interesting if he was a genius too. Would all my alternate selves be geniuses? Well there was the incredibly smart Sheppard in Rod's universe, but seriously – who knows? Is my Sheppard just as smart – wait, no – not my Sheppard. Our Sheppard. This Sheppard. Whatever. The point is, is he just as smart in all realities?
I hear the colonel's low voice telling me to hurry up. Oh please. Why would I? I – we – are carrying our own dead bodies from another reality. They're half frozen, for God's sake, and now we're dumping then in a closet on a derelict ship that's jumping through time like a game of hopscotch and he wants me to hurry up?
Is it possible to feel breathless without actually speaking? Pretty sure none of that left my head.
I lift the stiff body, trying to lever him onto the table. I cannot believe I am touching a freezing cold dead person, let alone one so like – me! Dammit! It's me! No matter how you slice it, this dead guy is wearing my face.
Laying him down gently as possible, I pretend that I'm not thinking he might wake up. I sneak a peak at my team to see if they're as freaked out as I am. It's so quiet; I don't think anyone else wants to wake the creepy doppelgangers either.
Oh.
Teyla's doing the farewell head-butt thing. Ronon's got the Egyptian warrior thing going. And Sheppard... He just saluted his dead counterpart. Not an ordinary salute, either. This was special and correct; one only used at –
Oh.
Either I have heartburn from that last power bar, or I've got a lump in my throat the size of Antarctica.
I so rarely get to see him show any kind of emotion, that I find myself staring. The last thing I want to think about is someone standing over his body, saluting the same way. John Sheppard is giving this soldier the proper send off. The dead man would be MIA for a long time. Forever, maybe.
This is what it's like to know what you look like dead. We're the last people to know what happened to these people, even if they are us.
I stare down at the other Rodney McKay.
Jeannie, if she existed in their reality, would never know what happened. She would get one of those letters I've seen Sheppard write time and again. Who would write this letter? Is their Carson still alive? What about Elizabeth? Would it be some generic form letter, or would someone take the time to list my accolades and achievements?
I really don't want to think about this.
Snagging the other McKay's tablet, I focus my attention on his notes. The program he built for this computer is beautiful in its simplicity and amazingly accessible. They were on this deathtrap for weeks; the compiled research he did will help me.
I hope.
Three Rodneys are better than one, right? As soon as I can get my head around that, I can move on. We're all geniuses after all, and I have the best minds at my disposal. Ooh! Equations.
I – we – can do this.
o-O-o-O-o-O-o
John
McKay's right.
I am heavier than I look.
As I carry him to the next room, I realize the man is – was – nearly frozen. Not like rigor; I think that passed long ago. His skin is soft over hard muscle; our skin tone's about the same so I wonder if I look like I'm dead too. I don't know why this fascinates me, but it does. I'm just glad I can't see his face right now.
Okay. Now I'm creeping myself out.
I dump him on the table in a hurry, but gently, thinking about all those forensic shows. Even in death, my – our, no wait his! – hair's the same, spiky and darting in all directions. Looks like he just got a haircut too. Distantly, I feel my hand wander up to my own hair.
Yep. It's getting a little long.
My eyes drift over his body, catching on his tags. He is still a major, and has a different middle initial than me. If my parents were still alive, I'd ask about how many different names they had picked out for me.
I can't help but wonder about his life. Was he a screw up like me? Was he still married? Did he have the same relationship with Atlantis? Did his Rodney drive him crazy?
The questions whirl around my head like a tornado. Too many, too fast.
Ripping my eyes away from the dead guy below me, I glance over at my team. They each pay their respects; I nearly laugh when Rodney snatches the tablet, hungrily searching the other McKay's notes and research. The only way he can show his respect is by continuing the project.
Ronon and his knives. I shake my head, knowing this wasn't what the big guy was expecting. His gun wasn't even drawn.
Now Teyla. Hello, good bye, and all other warm expressions were performed by this simple gesture. Somehow, I felt it this time with all my being.
These people would probably never get back to their own Atlantis; Atlantis wouldn't get back her people.
This soldier would never get home.
If he were Navy, he'd have a burial at sea. As a flyboy, at least he was on a flying ship, and that's where he got it right. The only difference is he's not behind the stick. I hope my demise will be in an F302, or a 'jumper. But like Ronon, I guess I can't really choose how I die. At least I – he – died among the stars.
My body moves on automatic, summoning the energy to execute the most correct salute I can muster.
Major John W. Sheppard deserves this, and I hope I will too, someday.
But not for a long time.