Stargate Atlantis is somebody else's, probably MGM/Gekko Corp/Sci-Fi, and I freely admit that whoever's it is, I'm borrowing their show and they retain all rights, etc.
Author's Note: Canon pairings. Spoilers for SGA all series.
Content warning for severe injuries and a permanent disability.
Written in response to a One Sentence prompt over on Rough Trade to practice my writing. Prompt is "John Sheppard is contemplating retiring and going back to Earth, but McKay has quite a lot to say about that stupid idea."
Cross-posted to AO3.
Home
It was never a good thing when an alarm was triggered in Atlantis – an actual, blaring, lights flashing, something's gone FUBAR alarm – not only because alarms were rare in Atlantis, which John found bizarre because of the amount of stuff which clearly needed alarms or warning signs or both, but because alarms meant the high probability that something was way beyond FUBAR.
John skidded into the room with Rodney hot on his heels, a gaggle of Marines following.
Doctor Brionski, a short blonde-haired woman, snapped around, fear making her blue eyes wide behind her glasses. "Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, I was just…"
"Fired!" Rodney snapped. "Out of the way!"
John directed the Marines to gently remove her when she started protesting. His eyes were already cataloguing the device on the centre table which was glowing ominously. Rodney had plugged his tablet into the table console and was typing rapidly. "Rodney?"
"I don't know!" Rodney said tersely. "Give me a minute!"
Zelenka arrived, flustered and panting but he immediately set up next to McKay. "It is…"
"Yes, but…"
"So, we need…"
"There!" Rodney immediately dived for a panel under the console.
"Rodney…"
Zelenka crouched down beside him and they both began to work on taking the innards to pieces.
John fought the urge to pace. He tapped his earpiece. "Lorne, ready Jumper One. We may need to do an extraction of a glowy Ancient thing."
"Glowy Ancient thing is bomb," Zelenka cut in.
"Bomb?" John questioned urgently.
Rodney furiously tugged at a burnt-out crystal. "Idiot Blondie turned on a bomb. There's a force-field which she damaged to get to it which will keep the blast contained. We're trying to repair it."
"Lorne, did you copy? Send Jumper One as soon as its ready," John ordered. He wasn't waiting for the containment field.
"I copy; Jumper is being prepped now," his second-in-command acknowledged calmly.
"Richard?" John moved on to the Head of the Expedition. Surprisingly Richard Woolsey had chosen to return with them to Pegasus after their sojourn on Earth. John was content; he had no wish to take the role himself and, frankly, Woolsey had turned into a decent boss for the most part. Apart from the insistence on paperwork.
"Colonel?" Woolsey responded with only a faint hint of a tremor.
"Brionski set off some detonation device," John reported crisply, "Doctors Zelenka and McKay are working to contain it but we're prepping a Jumper in case we need to take it off city."
"Understood, Colonel," Woolsey responded, "do whatever you need to do to keep the city safe."
"Yes, sir," John said automatically. "Everybody, keep the comms channel open and be ready to move. Start evacuating non-essential personnel from this tower." He hefted his weapon. "Rodney, how long?"
"How long?" Rodney shot back. "Really? We're doing this again?"
"I need to know…"
"Bomb will blow in five minutes," Zelenka interrupted urgently. "Here!" He pointed Rodney at another burnt component.
Rodney grabbed his tablet and plugged it into a port. "If we bypass this power grid and…"
"Yes, yes," Zelenka confirmed, "and then…"
"Reboot the field generator…"
They both looked over at the table with the glowy bomb.
Nothing happened.
"Did you…"
"Of course I…"
They both looked at each other.
"Manual reinitialization!" Rodney blurted out. He scrambled out from under the console and stood in front of the bomb.
John followed him, standing on his left when Zelenka took the right. Rodney placed his hand on the table.
Nothing happened.
"Are you thinking…" Zelenka began, pushing up his glasses.
"No, I'm not thinking," Rodney retorted sarcastically, "when am I not thinking?"
"Rodney!" John said sharply.
Rodney glared at John but deflated after half a second. "It's not working!" He admitted. "We've rebooted but I can't get it to reinitialise."
John waggled his own hand expressively. Sometimes no matter how much they pretended otherwise, Ancient technology still preferred John's expression of the gene.
Rodney rolled his eyes and stepped back.
John put his hand down on the table and thought hard to reinstate the containment field. The field snapped up in a shimmer of blue. It crackled ominously but it held.
Rodney breathed out deeply. "Great," he said, "we do all the work and…" he gestured at John, "you get all the glory."
John grinned and stepped back. "OK, immediate crisis averted," he said out loud, "Lorne, keep the Jumper on stand-by, we need to…"
The field crackled.
The room looked over at the blue shimmering force-field.
It crackled again.
"Is it meant to be doing that?" John asked sharply.
"No!" Rodney pushed him aside and plugged in his tablet to the console again. "The field is losing cohesion…the initialisation code is damaged."
The field collapsed.
John sprang forward, slapped his hand down and immediately thought it on. The field surged back into being.
Rodney frowned at the tablet. "Your gene is temporarily stabilising the code."
"That's good?" asked John dubiously.
"Good, but not so good," Zelenka said, tapping on his own tablet hurriedly, "you take hand away and…poof, tower is gone!" He gestured an explosion. "The bomb has three minutes left to blow."
"That's not so good," John confirmed.
"Jumper is on its way, sir," Lorne said, "two minutes out."
John did the calculations in his head and knew it wasn't going to be enough time; not enough time for the Jumper to get there and get the bomb out; not enough time for everyone to get clear of the tower before the bomb blew.
"I'll stay and make sure the blast is contained," John stated, "everybody else out! Clear the room and the tower! NOW!" He rolled his shoulders.
The Marines sprang into action and in his ear he could hear his orders being confirmed and relayed. He tuned it out.
Rodney and Zelenka stood stubbornly beside him still tapping away.
"That goes for both of you two," John said evenly. "Out!"
Zelenka looked torn but Rodney didn't move.
"I just need to fix the code," Rodney said absently, "if I can fix…"
"Can you fix it in three minutes?" asked John pointedly.
"Two minutes and forty seconds," Zelenka noted. "And no, he cannot."
Rodney glanced over at John and his frustrated yet guilty hang-dog look told John everything he needed to know; Rodney couldn't fix it in time.
"Out!" John ordered again.
Rodney unplugged his tablet. "Look, John, the containment field should take the blast just don't let go of the table."
"Don't let go of the table, right," John said.
"And keep thinking it on," Rodney continued. "Don't stop thinking!"
"Don't stop thinking," John repeated with a touch of sarcasm. "OK."
Rodney held his eyes for a long moment; precious seconds. "Just…don't get dead."
John nodded briskly and jerked his head at the door. "Go!"
Rodney and Zelenka hurried out.
John was alone with the glowy bomb, the unstable force-field and his own thoughts.
"OK, John," he said to himself softly, "you can do this."
This was nothing compared to being stranded years in the future.
Or being tortured by a Wraith.
Turning into a bug.
This was nothing.
Two minutes was nothing.
But it felt like an eternity.
John breathed in.
He breathed out.
One minute.
His hand remained on the table…
The field stayed on.
Thirty seconds.
He breathed in.
He breathed out.
Ten seconds.
He breathed in.
The table heated under his palm.
Eight.
He breathed out.
Vibrations rippled through the table.
Five.
He breathed in.
The glow intensified.
John blinked.
Three.
He breathed out.
His palm was hot.
Two.
He closed his eyes against the bright light…
One.
He breathed in.
Zero.
o-O-o
John woke up on a startled breath.
His heart pounded in his chest.
Something beeped beside him.
Teyla stepped into his vision and her hand rested carefully against his cheek. "Easy, John," she said quietly, "you are very injured."
Injured.
For a moment, that doesn't make sense to John. Then the memory filters back in.
Glowy bomb.
Dodgy containment field.
John blinked and tried to swallow. His mouth was too dry. Ice chips nudged at his lips and he opened obediently.
"Don't try to talk just yet," Teyla advised, "Jennifer is on her way."
John let the ice chips slide down his raw throat. He hurt. He hurt all over and he wasn't sure he could speak.
Teyla moved away taking the ice chips with her and Jennifer was suddenly there. She stuck a light into his eyes and he flinched against the harsh beam. A low moan escaped him as a rush of pain flooded his head.
"Sorry, Colonel," Jennifer said softly, "I need you to focus on my pen."
John followed the path of the pen she held.
"Good," Jennifer breathed out with a giddy smile. "That's good." She un-looped her stethoscope and listened to his breaths for a moment.
John blinked again. He opened his mouth and tried to wet his lips. "Wha…" he coughed, flinched, and slumped back against the pain.
Jennifer looped the scope back around her neck. She turned to the side and adjusted a machine. "I'm increasing your pain medication," she said crisply, "now you're out of the induced coma, we'll need to keep watch on your pain levels." She looked at him sternly. "No being a hero, OK, Colonel?"
John felt tired. "Wrong," he whispered, "what's wrong with me?"
Jennifer's firm expression softened with a hint of compassion. She stuck her hands into her lab coat pockets. "The containment field took the brunt of the explosion but failed right at the end. You were caught in the final seconds of the blast."
That explained why everything hurt.
His eyelids felt heavy. He blinked slowly.
"You suffered severe head trauma," Jennifer said, "numerous broken bones, partial burns." Her voice roughened with emotion. "We almost lost you twice in surgery, John."
John looked at her blearily, struggling to comprehend. "But I'm OK?"
"You're OK," Jennifer repeated, "but there are some serious injuries we still have to talk about and your recovery is going to take a while." She smiled tremulously. "Right now, you need rest."
"Team?" John whispered, fighting the slide to sleep. "Everyone out?"
Jennifer nodded quickly. "Rodney fell down some stairs and broke a finger; Radek got bruised by some falling debris. But they're fine. No-one else was injured."
John relaxed. His team was fine. Everyone was fine. He slipped back into sleep as Jennifer started talking again.
o-O-o
It was quiet in his medical room.
John lay still in the bed. Moving hurt more than it didn't. He stared across at the window. The shining spires of Atlantis glinted in the bright sunshine; blue cloudless sky all around them.
He sighed.
He glanced down at his right arm. It was heavily bandaged; a soft cast supporting his broken bones. The skin had been badly burned. They'd almost amputated. John felt a shiver down his spine at that. He remembered the virtual vision where he'd lost his arm to Kolya. He really didn't like the idea it was foreshadowing anything.
It would take months of rehabilitation before he would have the use of his arm again.
More worrying was the continued weakness in the rest of his body.
The bomb had apparently been some kind of bio-weapon. His cells had been attacked by radiation designed to eliminate the Ancient DNA. He no longer had his ATA gene and Jennifer had been frankly honest that they didn't know what the long-term effects of the change would be on his health.
For John the absence of the hum of Atlantis at the back of his mind was like losing a limb. It was too silent. It felt strange to look at the door and for it not to shut or open on his mental command. They'd tested him with a couple of Ancient devices and he'd felt nothing.
It was disconcerting.
It was terrifying.
He had his life, John remonstrated with himself briskly. He had his life and his gene wasn't what defined who he was. He could and would live a full life without it.
But he hurt.
And he missed Atlantis even as he lay there within the city's walls.
"Hey," Ronon rumbled from the doorway.
John looked over at his Satedan friend and managed a small smile. "Hey."
Ronon pointed at John's head. "Hair's finally growing back in."
John squashed the urge to reach up and run his hand over the fuzz which was covering his skull. They'd shaved him for surgery.
Ronon ambled in with a book in his hand. "You want some company?"
"Sure," John said.
For the first week he'd been conscious (or in and out as he'd had a terrible tendency just to fall asleep mid-word), he hadn't spent any time alone and it had been obvious that there had been some kind of rota of people to sit with him. But as he'd slowly recovered the rota had eased way as the others had gotten back to their every-day lives and for the past week, he'd spent a lot of his time alone.
Ronon settled into the nearby chair and opened his book. John tapped his tablet and started reading through the latest mission reports. He was almost caught up. His own team had been stood down for the first couple of weeks, but he'd discussed it with Lorne and Lorne had ended up assigning Major Teldy to take the lead position.
Anne was a good officer. She had a really good relationship with Teyla, Ronon respected her, and she was able to wrangle Rodney. From the latest report, the trading mission they'd been assigned a few days before had gone well.
John felt the kernel of jealousy swarm up; the feeling that it should be him out there with his team. Bitterness edged his thoughts for a long second before he swiped the report away and inwardly sighed.
It was going to be a long time before he was fit to go into the field again. If it was going to be possible at all with his arm…
"You OK?" asked Ronon.
"Peachy," John snapped and immediately regretted the snap. He looked over and met Ronon's even stare with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry," he said, "just…" he gestured with the tablet.
Ronon shrugged, easy and loose. "I'd be going crazy if it were me."
John gave an appreciative chuckle and gave a slow nod. "I guess it's beginning to hit me how long the road to recovery's going to be."
Ronon held his gaze with a serious intent. "We'll walk that road beside you though, you get that right, Sheppard?"
"If I start to forget, I'm sure you'll remind me," John quipped, although something eased a touch inside of him to hear the reassurance.
A sharp rap on the door had them both turning to the new visitor. Lorne stood there with a stack of folders in his arms.
"Requisition requests?" asked John delicately.
"Yes, sir," Lorne looked sheepish, "if you have a moment, I could do with some advice."
John was pretty sure Lorne had a better idea of how to handle them than he did but he wouldn't turn his second away if he needed a sounding board. "Come on in."
"I'm outta here," Ronon moved swiftly out of the chair and towards the door.
"What happened to walking the road beside me?" called out John as Ronon side-stepped past Lorne in the doorway.
A single finger in the air was his only response.
John's lips twitched and he waved Lorne in.
o-O-o
John stretched like a cat under the sun's warming rays and moved another stumbling step towards the balcony railing. He leaned heavily against the railing. It had been over a month since the explosion but there were days he felt as weak as a kitten.
He breathed in the salty tang of air and let it rush through his lungs. He tilted his head up to the sun and closed his eyes, grateful for the sunglasses which kept the light from blinding him.
He grimaced as his bandaged arm made contact with the railing and he gently manoeuvred it to rest atop the metal. He'd had another two surgeries; one to pin and screw his bones tighter, another to do another skin graft.
The wind pulled at his grey t-shirt and tugged at his cut-off jeans which hung loose low on his hips. He'd lost weight and body mass. Physio was slow going, but he was making progress. He had a long way to go but he was on the road. Jennifer was pleased with that at least even if his bad arm was still causing issues and nothing had progressed at all in finding a solution for his missing DNA, even if, and he thought the quote marks in his head "his cellular composition had stabilised."
John sighed as he remembered his check-up that morning and ran his good hand through soft spiky short hair. There was a small area of patchiness on his right side where the worst of the burns had been but he could live with that. He thought again of Jennifer's suggestion and wondered if going back to Earth was something he should seriously consider.
There had been a pretty good medical argument for getting him out of a war zone – and Atlantis was a war zone, Pegasus was a war zone with the Wraith around – and back to normality. His lack of gene did make living on the city more difficult. Things had to be initialised by a gene carrier for him to use them and he couldn't deny that he mourned the loss of his connection to Atlantis. He was reminded every moment he woke up and every second of his waking day that he was different; that he no longer was able to operate in the same way on the city. He'd avoided the Jumper bay, unwilling to put himself through the torture of knowing he'd never fly them again.
Jennifer's case for a more normal environment where he could focus on his physical and mental recovery without distraction made sense. There was also the forewarning that his arm may never fully recover and if that was the case, it was likely he would be invalided out of the Air Force. There was also the countering hope that the SGC had access to healing technologies which may help him, but Jennifer had cautioned against pinning his arm's recovery on those.
John sighed heavily.
Maybe he should consider taking a medical retirement, full stop.
He'd put in his years.
He'd made full bird Colonel – a rank he'd once thought completely out of reach.
He'd saved Atlantis a few times.
He'd saved the Earth.
He had good friends; his team was a family and that wouldn't change.
Not even if he went back to Earth.
His brother, David, had already extended an invitation to recuperate at the family homestead. Their relationship was mending and spending time with his brother and his family would be another step along fixing it.
He could rest finally.
It was tempting.
So tempting.
"Moron!" Rodney stomped out onto the balcony. "Where's your cane?"
John started and grimaced, reaching to cradle his bad arm against his chest. "Hello to you too, Rodney."
"You're not supposed to be walking without your cane," Rodney lectured, "here!" He thrust the cane at John.
John took it and tossed it off the balcony. "Oops."
Rodney looked at him open-mouthed. "You!" He threw up his arms. "You just threw your cane over the balcony! Are you an actual moron?!"
John arched an eyebrow and limped across to the seating area. He lowered himself into the chair and wasn't surprised when Rodney followed a moment after.
Rodney sat down opposite him, a vibrating body mass of anger.
John took his sunglasses off and regarded him thoughtfully. "You can't find an answer to my DNA thing, can you?"
Rodney shook his head. "Radek and I have tried everything but there's just not enough information about the device and what it did to you. Carson thinks he might be able to create a gene therapy, but it could take years, especially since the best expression of the gene is yours and, well…"
He'd need fresh tissue samples which John didn't have anymore.
John wondered if the news was a sign.
Maybe retirement was the way to go.
"What?!" Rodney's sharp tone pulled John's attention back to him and made him realise he'd spoken out loud.
"What?"
Evasion was a tactic John was very skilled in deploying.
"You just…"
"Rodney…"
"…said retirement was the way to go!"
"Maybe the way to go!" John stressed, unwilling to have the discussion. "And we're not talking about this, Rodney!" Panic was beginning to claw at his chest; twist up his insides because if he talked about it, he'd have to say it and…
"Of course, we're not talking about it because it's a stupid idea!" Rodney ranted at him, arms flying out passionately. "You're not retiring! You just need to give me time to fix it and…"
"There is no fixing this, Rodney!" John snapped, frustration pouring out of him. "I have months of recovery for the stuff that's still broken," he lifted his bandaged arm a scant inch, "and just because I'm not blue this time doesn't mean I'm me! I don't belong here anymore!"
He looked away from Rodney. He kept control of his breathing; ignored the emotions churning through him.
"I will fix this," Rodney said roughly. "You just need to give me some time."
John sighed. He was so tired. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
o-O-o
"Breathe in," Teyla murmured.
John breathed in.
The sunlight flooded the gym, illuminating the four team members sat on the mat in the centre.
Rodney shifted beside John. For the past week, he'd been waging a war against John's intent to retire and go back to Earth.
It was endearing.
And annoying.
But mostly endearing.
He wasn't sure which one he favoured right at that moment since the reason why he sat comfortably on the floor, one damaged arm in a sling, was Rodney's latest attempt to convince him he belonged; team bonding.
Given how much Rodney hated team-bonding, but how he was apparently going to suffer through it for John, John was tempted to go with that it was endearing.
"And breathe out," Teyla intoned calmly.
However, meditation hadn't been his thing back when he'd been locked into a community of Ascension-aspiring Ancients and it still wasn't.
Annoying then.
Rodney coughed and fidgeted.
"Breathe in," Teyla instructed.
"Unauthorised gate activation! Security to the gate room!"
"Oh, thank God," Rodney muttered and clambered to his feet.
John was hauled to his by Ronon. John didn't even think; he followed Rodney, Teyla beside him and Ronon keeping pace with Rodney ahead.
Lorne's eyes widened a touch at the sight of him and Richard glanced over to see what had caught Lorne's attention. "Colonel."
John gave a small sigh of relief that neither Lorne nor Richard ordered him immediately from the room. "Richard."
"Receiving IDC," Chuck intoned, "it's SG1, sir."
"Open the iris," Richard ordered briskly, making his way down the stairs to the gate room floor with Lorne at his heels.
John followed at a much slower pace, Ronon unobtrusively supporting him as he limped down the steps. Rodney stood beside him on one side; Teyla beside him.
The iris melted away and figures emerged from the wormhole.
John immediately recognised Cameron Mitchell. The Colonel who led SG1 looked sickeningly healthy and robust. John shook away his jealousy with a sigh. Vala Mal Doran bounded alongside Mitchell; bright-eyed and beaming. Behind them, Daniel Jackson and Teal'c emerged with a small figure of a woman who looked like a woodland fairy with wild hair between them.
John frowned at the fact that they'd essentially allowed an unknown alien, albeit a friendly, onto Atlantis without forewarning thanks to SG1. He and Lorne exchanged a frustrated look.
Daniel cleared his throat. "Mister Woolsey, let me introduce you to Lya of the Nox." His gaze darted to John and he smiled. "She's here to help Colonel Sheppard."
"She is?" asked Rodney sharply. "Because when I asked you for help…"
"You asked Jackson for help?" John interrupted him brusquely. He wasn't sure if he was touched or annoyed at Rodney reaching out to Jackson.
Rodney dismissed him with a wave of a hand. "When I asked for help, I expected, you know, something more…"
"Scientific?" suggested Jackson archly, wrinkling his nose.
"Helpful," Rodney shot back.
Richard cleared his throat. "I'm very honoured to meet you, Lya." He quickly introduced the rest of the rest of them to the serene alien.
"I am thankful to visit the city of our lost friends once more," Lya said. She moved to stand in front of John, "Daniel Jackson informs me you have been gravely injured."
John flushed under her intent regard, her dark eyes holding his. "I've been injured."
"I believe I would like to see the sky," Lya said. She held out her hand. "Will you show me to the balcony, Colonel Sheppard?"
John took her hand, looped it into his good arm and they fell into step as they walked back up the steps and out onto the balcony. Behind him he could hear Rodney berating Jackson as the doors slid shut.
Lya let go of him to walk to the railing as though in a dream. She breathed in sharply at the sight of the Atlantean spires. She lifted her gaze and seemed to drink in the view.
"You've, uh, visited before?" John asked, remembering her words.
Lya turned to look at him. "Once as a small child; I thought I would never see it again." She focused back on him. "You have a good friend in Doctor McKay, Colonel."
"John, please," John responded politely, "and Rodney's great. Annoying, but great."
"The best friends usually are," Lya said softly, amusement flickering across her face. "May I?" She held out her hand again and he placed his good hand into it. She placed her other hand over his. She hummed.
John felt a warm spread over his hand and up his arm; it continued until it swept over his entire body. He closed his eyes as the warmth chased away the pain which dogged him; the soreness and achiness which seemed to live in his bones and his flesh. The weight of the cast disappearing from his wrist has his eyes opening; bones and flesh painlessly realigned and healed leaving behind a web of silver scars as he watched amazed.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Lya hummed again. Another wave of warmth spread through him. He swayed against the gentle touch.
Lya met his damp gaze. "What the Ancients have done, the Nox cannot undo," she informed him softly.
John felt the disappointment swamp him; the flickering hope of regaining everything he had lost disappearing abruptly and leaving behind a deep ache.
"And your deepest wound can only be healed by you, John Sheppard," Lya murmured.
John blinked at her, confused.
"It was not your fault, John," Lya said firmly.
His breath caught in his throat.
"The Wraith would always have woken and their hunger would always lead to loss," Lya continued. "It was not your fault and this is not your punishment."
John felt her compassion and her belief flood through him. Tears pressed up against his eyes and he bowed his head.
Lya shifted closer, pulling him into a loose embrace, and John hid his face in the nook between her neck and shoulder; closed his eyes. She carefully wrapped one arm around him, clasped the back of his neck with a delicate hand, and held John as he silently broke.
o-O-o
John ran.
Boots which still felt a little heavy after months of non-use pounded the ground as he made his way through the forest to the Stargate.
Beside him, Ronon turned and shot a stream of energy fire from his weapon back towards their attackers.
"Glad you didn't retire now, right?" Ronon yelled at him.
John's response consisted of a single finger. First mission back and they'd stumbled on a tribe of Wraith worshippers. Milk run, his ass.
They broke the treeline at the same time.
The Stargate was filled with a pool of blue; a waiting wormhole. Teyla lay down covering fire, Rodney crouching beside her, doing the same.
John skidded to a halt beside them and took up position. "GO!" He fired shots as the planet's inhabitants began go emerge from the treeline.
Ronon tapped his shoulder to signal the others were through, and John got up and ran for the open wormhole. They threw themselves in and landed with a thump on the floor of the gateroom.
The iris shimmied into being behind them even as the wormhole winked out.
John caught his breath and turned to look at Ronon who was already clambering to his feet. Rodney offered him a hand and John took it, ignoring the silver scars which criss-crossed his own as he grasped Rodney's forearm and stood up. Teyla gave a smile as they all stood together, dirty and sweaty, but whole and uninjured. Rodney patted his shoulder and smiled crookedly at him. Ronon grinned and twirled his gun.
Maybe Atlantis didn't welcome him as she had once done; the buzz of the city remained an absent hole in his mind, but the city wasn't the whole story. He had his team, his chosen family around him; he was right where he needed to be.
John was home.