Midnight Requiem
By Dragon's Daughter 1980
Disclaimer: Other than being a fan, I have absolutely nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis in any way, shape or form.
"Hey," he said quietly as he stepped onto the balcony, the night breeze cool on his skin. There were reasons why she always ended up here whenever she was upset. For one thing, the view of the city was always breathtaking, but the sky—she could see the sky from here. She had told him once that she hated heights, but the sky was the most beautiful palette of colors she had ever seen. She adored the dawn and dusk — the serenity of a new day breaking and an old day fading. The second was that the place was isolated enough that no one would accidentally find her when she didn't want to be found. Sometimes she just needed space to think. Other times, she needed space to cope. They had come here a few times, just to talk and relax while the sun sank out of sight in front of them. Those meetings happened on good days. This…
Today had been a bad day, a very bad day for everyone.
She didn't acknowledge his presence—she continued to rock on the cold ground, arms wrapped around her knees, her face hidden in the shadows. In the moonlight, he could catch the faintest hint of tears on her cheeks and he wondered if he really had to ask. He did anyway, not that he really needed to.
"You," he swallowed, wetting his lips with tongue before he tried to speak again, "You okay?"
There was a moment when he thought she wasn't going to answer. Then he heard her soft whimper, "No."
In the dim light, he could see her shoulders shaking with the sobs she was trying to smother. He sighed and slid down to join her on the balcony platform, their bodies close enough to almost touch.
"You're cold," he stated simply, and then unfolded and draped a spare blanket around her. She whispered her thanks and held the ends closed in a tight white-knuckled fist.
"You cold?" she asked hoarsely. He shook his head and patted his jacket, "Nope. Unlike some people, I don't wander around at night without a coat."
She scoffed, having caught him without a jacket often enough at night in the city there were times she wondered if he ever really was an Eagle Scout, as he had claimed. Still, he was prepared when it counted. She never recalled a time off-world when he told her he didn't have something they vitally needed to save everyone's asses from the Wraith.
"Now Doctor," he said mildly, "is that skepticism I hear in your voice?"
She didn't answer and he wondered if he had misread her signals that screamed she wanted a distraction. She was an introspective person, but sometimes she thought too much. When he figured that out about her, he had appointed himself in charge of making sure she didn't go too far and end up in a panic. He scrambled mentally for a light-hearted comment or some funny quip to take her mind off of things. Just when he had a very lame joke on his tongue, she said quietly, "She's dead."
He swallowed back his words and nodded, "Yeah."
"She's dead," she repeated in a flat voice and then she abruptly stilled, "Everyone's freaking out about me, aren't they?"
"Not…precisely," he hedged. "I mean, the guys are concerned, you know, they—we—know you kind of knew her and…" He trailed off awkwardly. After she hadn't shown up for dinner, the team had exchanged looks. He would find her, and the rest of them would wait for his call for reinforcements, if needed.
"And they elected you as the sacrificial lamb to deal with my crying-female-ness."
"Er…" he promptly scrapped the first three replies that came to mind at her statement. She wasn't trained in anything beyond basic self-defense and firearms handling, but her shoulder slaps still hurt. Not that he would ever say so, to her or to anybody else. He has a reputation to uphold after all. Not that he would tell her that, not now at least, when the remark would be less likely to earn him a smile and more likely to get him a slap in the face and hard shove to go away. "We're just worried?"
He inwardly winced at the questioning tone of the statement. Uncertain comments like that would definitely set her off, especially given her fame of mind at the moment.
"About what?" she snapped, anger building in her small frame. He looked at her, met her grief-filled eyes straight on and said simply, "Today."
She crumpled at his reply and he caught her, half-pulling her into his lap, as she pitched forward, tears choking her words. He murmured quietly to her, soothing phrases he couldn't take comfort in at the moment. He held her as she cried, broken sobs of grief and fear, of anger and bitterness, running a hand up and down her back, tucking her hair behind her ear and away from her face. He wanted her to feel safe, to feel anchored, and the only way he knew how to do that for her was to surround her with warmth. He held her close, ignoring the few tears that escaped his control as he listened to her fight to control her own emotions, to quiet herself back into silence.
"It's not fair," he said when her sobbing had dwindled into little hiccups for air and steady, silent tears. She laughed, a cutting edge of acrimony in the mirthless sound, before she replied, "Life's not supposed to be fucking fair."
He nodded and sat back, not bothering to lift his arm so that she could sit up. She didn't make a move to do so either. They sat like that for so long that his tired brain had the moment to wonder what people would say if anyone saw them like this, sprawled on a balcony in a decidedly unprofessional scene.
"I hope she's at peace now."
"Yeah," he sighed, "so do I."
"Do you—do you think there'll be a service? Now?" She continued to look out at the moonlit water, "Now that we know?"
"Probably." He spoke quietly to match the pensive mood, "Even if the higher-ups… we'll have one."
"You mean, Woolsey," she sighed on an exhale, a resignation and an understanding wrapped together. She didn't mind the new expedition leader too much—the only complaint she had was the increase in paperwork in her department and mission reports, but then she was a scientist so what did she know?
"Yeah." They settled back into silence until he almost thought she was asleep.
"The Japanese send out little paper boats with candles, you know," she said suddenly. "Once a year, I think, for their day of the dead. I'm not sure."
"You could ask Dr. Kusanagi."
"Probably."
The moons moved slowly across the night sky and the wind grew increasingly colder. He didn't protest when she sat up and wrapped the blanket around both of them, her head falling to rest on his shoulder.
"I'm going to miss her."
"So am I."
"It's funny, how I never knew her that well but…"
"She was always there."
"Yeah." She swallowed, "How's everyone else?"
He shrugged, careful not to jostle the blanket too much or let the cold air seep into their warm cocoon. "We'll deal. Jones is probably going to push us harder tomorrow. Henry's already been to the gun range."
"And you?"
He sighed, "I'll be okay. Promise," he added when he saw her worried expression. Dark brown eyes studied his face, "Okay."
She settled back down against his shoulder, "It's cold. Maybe you should go inside. Get some sleep."
"Are you going to come along?"
"Later."
"Then I'll wait."
"You don't have to stay with me, you know. I'll be fine out here. Just leave the blanket."
"I know. I want to." He nudged her gently, "You should get some sleep too."
"Tea and coffee," she responded, as she usually did to the suggestion that she was sleep-deprived. "You should tell them to get to bed."
"He outranks me and it's not like Henry listens to me half the time."
"So?"
"I'm not exactly allowed to order my superior officer to bed, you know."
"Like 'you, haul ass, now' isn't an order?" She quirked an eyebrow as she quoted from their last off-world mission.
"It was a suggestion. A loud suggestion. And it wasn't directed at him." He mumbled to himself, "And I'm totally going to pay for it for the next three months."
"Right… keep on telling yourself that, but you should tell them to get some sleep in a bed."
"What about you? Don't you want to sleep in your bed?"
"I'm not tired."
"You should get some sleep."
"Tea and coffee, minister. That's how we survived college, remember?"
"That's not good for you."
"What, you've got a medical degree now?" she asked without heat.
"No," he teased cautiously, "just common sense."
She made a muffled, noncommittal noise that sounded like a disgruntled feline, but didn't comment verbally on the lighthearted taunt.
"Do you remember P5X-543?"
"Mud Planet?"
"They're all mud planets."
"Is that a scientific obser—ow! Okay, yeah, I remember P5X… how do you remember all these codes?"
"You want me to recite the periodic table of elements?"
"Would I understand it?"
"If you graduated from college, hopefully yes."
"Hopefully? Ow! What's with the punishment here?"
"I'm not hitting you that hard."
"But you're hitting me!"
She sighed and rolled her eyes, "Do you remember what she said when we did our debriefing?"
"Yeah," he smiled a little at the memory, "I don't think I've ever saw someone trying so hard not to laugh."
"Me neither."
He was on the edge of dozing off when she shifted her weight, leaning against the wall. The crying had stopped a while ago, but there was a single tear that rolled down her cheek as she tilted her head back to see the lavender sky.
"After..." she faltered for a moment, "After that happened… You probably don't remember this, but I remember she came in every day to see you and Jones."
He knew what she was talking about, even though like she said, he didn't remember the event itself. The planet had been friendly, until the local wildlife dropped by and decided they wanted a few human-sized snacks. After that, it was a blur of gunfire and adrenaline until he woke up in Atlantis' infirmary, more stitches than he cared to count in his flesh and more scars to add to his collection on his skin.
"I was so scared. For both of you. I know—" She stopped to compose herself, "I know you're soldiers, but I… I remember she stopped by one night and she didn't say anything. She just held my hand the entire time. Not a word, but we just sat there."
He put an arm around her tense shoulders. She had never really talked about what had happened in the five days he had spent in the ICU, not with him, but he did notice how she hovered around both him and Jones for months afterwards, as if she was the soldier assigned to protect the scientist and not the other way around. He wondered just how much it scared her every time they went off-world, knowing that their team could end up in the infirmary or worse, and how she never talked about it at all, with anyone.
"She never stayed very long, but..."
He squeezed her shoulder, "She was a good leader. We're not going to forget her."
"No. We won't."
They dozed for a little while, barely stirring when two others joined them on the balcony. She mumbled a thank you as additional blankets were spread out and used to barricade the little group against the cold. Between long pauses of silence as the darkness lifted into the pre-dawn light, the team spoke quietly to each other, sharing memories and stories of a woman and leader they never knew well, but deeply respected just the same.
She listened to their murmurings, watching the sky brighten with every moment. There was no surprise when small cups and a flask appeared for a final toast, and she took the steel handle when it was offered to her. They were still alive, and as Cicero had said, the life of the dead remains in the memory of the living.
As the sun rose over the endless blue horizon, heralding the dawn of a new day, she whispered quietly, "Goodbye, Dr. Weir."