DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Everything belongs to SciFi; especially the stuff that isn't theirs. (emergencyfan safe)
"Colonel Shepard!" John turned at the sound of Elizabeth calling his name and watched as the woman jogged over to where he was. She was carrying a notebook; one of those black-and-white composition books you use in Literature class. John really didn't think anything of it, though. Elizabeth always had a book or a stack of files with her. They almost seemed like part of her uniform. "Oh, good, Col. Shepard. I wanted you to look at this." And she tried to hand him the notebook. John studied the back cover without taking it; it looked quite nondescript, even with the Tulane sticker that the owner had put on lopsidedly.
"What is it?" he asked cautiously.
"Do you know Sgt. Charles Bouvier?" At John's negative shake of his head, Elizabeth signed. "He was killed yesterday. Maj. Lorne is packing up most of his personal belongings, but when he saw the journal he brought it to me. This needs to be read to make sure he didn't put anything in it that could be considered sensitive or classified material. And if there is anything sensitive, it needs to be censored out." Elizabeth saw John's eyes narrow and realised he was about to complain. "I'd do it, but I have so much work to do and Sgt. Bouvier was military. So you would most likely understand him better than I would."
"I have alot of work too, Elizabeth. I have to find . . . " John didn't say his name, but everyone in the vicinity knew who he was talking about: Ford.
"I wouldn't ask, if I didn't have to. You know that, John. Please." Elizabeth stared into his eyes looking for the happy-go-lucky man she knew and was not surprised when all she saw was the man who had shot Kolya staring back at her. "Do this for me." John reached out and took the notebook before turning on his heel and walking away. Ford had been gone for days now and still, he had that look in his eyes. Elizabeth stared after him and hoped that her John would be back soon.
John put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door and settled behind his desk. His office was small, cramped, and cluttered; Rodney often remarked that the Ancients had probably used it as a cleaning supply closet back when they still needed such things. The notebook was sitting on his desk just to the right of his left hand.
John ignored it.
He pulled the duty roster toward him as he tried to calculate how much rest the S.A.R. team needed in between missions. They'd need at least six hours meaning at most two missions a day. If John could convince them they didn't need sleep. The name on the cover was "Charley Bouvier"; a weird spelling for a guy.
John ignored it.
John pulled the team assignment list to him as he pushed away the duty roster. Maybe there was a way to reorganise the teams so that each member of the current S.A.R. team was on another team. That way he could have four teams to send out and they'd cover more ground that way. On the address line, the same sprawling hand had written "Jones 281" (obviously his dorm room and number) and the words "New Orleans, LA."
John ignored it.
AT-1 had been put on leave for a few days so that they could all rest. John snorted. Like McKay was anywhere other than his lab geeking out over his new ZeeP.M. Excuse him, ZedP.M. He wondered idly how many teams Elizabeth would let him take off 'Repair the city' and 'Find a new Beta site' duty to go search for Ford. The other lines on the cover were informationless; though, the owner had drawn something that John vaguely remembered from his high school physics days.
John couldn't ignore it anymore. Maybe if he went ahead and read it, Elizabeth would let him go back on duty sooner. Deciding it was worth a try, John pulled the notebook to him and turned to the first page
SGASGASGASGASGA
I joined the military to go to school. National Guard of all things. My mam wasn't too happy, but no mother ever is. Halfway through my first semester, the Air Force shows up at my front door asking questions about the thesis I did to get into the undergrad research department. I'm a physics major so after reading a paper published years back by a "Dr. Rodney McKay," I decided wormhole physics was the best way to impress my professors. I ended up impressing the Air Force. When the well-dressed major (I think he said his name was Davis) sat me down and started talking about interplanetary travel and aliens, I never imagined I would end up in another galaxy. I guess, I should've.
They took me to Cheyenne Mountain and showed me the "Stargate," but the part that really drove it home was the beam-up process. It seemed so much like something out of Star Trek that I almost expected to see Mr. Kyle working the controls. I didn't expect Hermiod at all. I wish they had warned me about that. Probably scared the hell outta him by screaming the way I did.
I've been on the Daedalus for two weeks (give or take a few days. My mam always said the real way to tell a genius was to ask them what day it was and if they answered correctly, you'd found a normal person.) and "they" are saying we'll get there tomorrow. Atlantis. The reason I walked out the door without so much as a glance back the day I met that major. I assumed they'd get my stuff; they did. According to the campus paper, I disappeared without a trace.
Apparently, they're in big trouble; it's my job to get them out of it. I've got that weird feeling. You know, that weird excited-scared feeling you get when the coaster is chugging up the track and you can just see the top of the hill and you know in a minute you're going over it, but you still can't see what's on the other side. When you're half excited and half scared...well, maybe it's 12 excited and 88 scared. That feeling that something totally unexpected and new and unlike anything you've ever done is coming.
It's almost like that feeling you get before you take a girl out for the first time. When you know what she seems like, but have no clue what she actually is like. The butterflies in your stomach are fighting with the ice in your veins and that feeling of utter dread permeates it all. You're so worried you're going to say the wrong thing or wear the wrong shirt or forget something important about her that you forget that dating is supposed to be fun. Right now, it's that moment when you're driving to her house and you have to decide if you want to pull over or just speed up and drive right on by. But I don't have that option anymore, do I? I'm going to Atlantis, no matter what, now. Just like with my dates. No matter how tempted I am to step on the accelerator and floor it, I always pull over. I guess for me the point-of-no-return is asking her out. Because if I don't go through with it, I'll torment myself forever with "What if"s. That's what Atlantis is. A big "What if" that lurks on the horizon.
I'll admit it; I'm scared as hell. But that's what courage is. It ain't the absence of fear; it is fear. Being scared as hell and doing whatever it is that scares you anyway. I look forward to tomorrow and what the day brings.
A/N: Constructive criticism welcome.