Tribute

The thundering line of battle stands,
And in the air death moans and sings;
But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,
And Night shall fold him in soft wings.
-- Julian Grenfell; KIA 1915

He stood at attention. It was a stance he rarely used, but today, nothing else seemed right. Staring out across the ocean, a light breeze blew over John Sheppard's face, and the setting sun cast a reddish orange glow on the pier, as he listened to Elizabeth Weir's words.

"We've come here to honor those that fell in defense of Atlantis. They gave their lives in protection of an ideal…a commitment to the pursuit of knowledge, and the courage to face the unknown. Soldiers and scientists alike, we honor their sacrifice."

John's gaze refocused on the orderly rows of wreaths that lined the pier. Neatly woven by the Athosians, each one represented someone the expedition team had lost. There were more than he could count…more than he wanted to see, but even one, would've been too many. Each represented a person…a member of their team. Soldier or scientist, it didn't matter. They had paid the ultimate price.

Standing at perfect attention, John pursed his lips. With the link back to Earth reestablished, families would be notified…closure offered…funerals would be planned. But, somehow it only seemed right that Atlantis, and the survivors, pay their respects too. He hadn't been alone in that thought. When Elizabeth broached the topic during their last senior staff meeting, it had been openly, if solemnly embraced. The ceremony had been hastily planned, in order to fit it in before the senior staff returned to Earth…along with the personal effects…and, in the case of a few families, the bodies of the fallen. Mildly frustrated, John sighed. The families would have closure of a sort, but ultimately, would never know what their loved ones were doing…had sacrificed or why they died.

John fidgeted slightly, the feel of his dress uniform uncomfortable after nearly a year without it. Where they'd managed to find a dress uniform for a Major was beyond him. John shook off the momentary distraction and refocused on the ceremony. He glanced at seven perfectly dressed soldiers, standing at attention, their polished rifles silently resting on their shoulders. John once more gazed at the long line of wreaths. They were strangers to him, those seven men, and their presence only reminded him that they weren't isolated anymore. Part of him felt the peculiarity of seeing soldiers around Atlantis that he didn't know…but it was becoming common place as soldiers from the Daedalus arrived on Atlantis to strengthen the city's depleted military forces. John drew in a deep breath. Depleted forces… They hadn't been depleted when the expedition team had arrived here, almost a year ago. His gaze panned over the line of identical wreaths. So many of them were soldiers…men under his command. More times than he could count, John had second-guessed himself. He'd wondered what he could've done differently to save those men, and once again, his thoughts traveled down that path.

"Second guessing yourself will only lead to failure, John, but learning from your mistakes will lead to greatness."

Briefly, one of John's eyebrows quirked before he fell back into a stoic, professional expression. His father had said many things to John over the years, mostly critical, but for some reason, that one thought sprang to mind. Fitting, as it was, for his mood.

Mostly, John realized their deaths had been out of his hands, but his sense of responsibility constantly, and routinely questioned that. There were some that he could've prevented…Abrams, Gaul…Sumner. John keenly felt the weight of his mistakes…a weight measured in the heaviest burden possible; life. Hard as it was to take, and to even live with, John accepted his mistakes. Instead of letting them consume him, John allowed his mistakes to help define him, shape who he is, and lend their lessons to his experience.

His mind wandered to the ones he couldn't prevent. Markam…Smith…Grodin…Dumez and the others killed by the nanovirus…the soldiers killed in the recent siege. When all of them had stepped through the gate, they'd all known that they may never return to Earth, yet, John felt a pang of guilt that he'd be returning, and they would not. He refocused his attention on Weir as she finished speaking. Inwardly, John sighed, realizing that he hadn't been paying any attention to what she'd said. He looked over at the seven, armed soldiers as they ceremoniously aimed their rifles skyward and swiftly fired three shots. A purely military gesture, somehow it seemed fitting for both the soldiers and the civilians they were honoring. The salute was a gesture of respect…and one each of them deserved, regardless of whether they were a soldier or not.

An unspoken order passed through the ranks of soldiers as each of them, John included, snapped to attention and saluted. Taps sounded, the clear notes echoing off the surrounding towers. John nodded to himself at the appropriate gesture. Leave it to McKay to find a copy of Taps and a way to play it at the ceremony. Yeah, sure it was a purely American tradition, but again, it was a gesture of respect…of honor.

He looked up, a distant hum grabbing his attention. John smiled as, from beyond the city, a squadron of X-302s from the Daedalus sped over the ocean and directly towards them. In perfect formation, the 302s climbed high over the city as one 302 peeled away, leaving a large gap in the squadron's formation. The classic missing man formation brought a lump to John's throat and a small smile to his face as the true Air Force pilot within him stood enraptured at the sight. He watched, as the formation disappeared into the horizon, the whine of their engines fading.

John's attention was drawn back to the ceremony as a small group of people, an equal mix of soldiers and civilians, but all part of the original Atlantis expedition team, walked forward. One by one, they gifted each wreath back to the sea while the audience watched quietly. Their task completed, each one returned to their places in the audience.

Once again, Elizabeth Weir stood and faced the viewers. "As each of you go from this place, take the memories of those who have fallen with you. As we uncover the secrets of Atlantis, and with it, further our understanding of the Ancients, remember their sacrifices in the name of that knowledge. Thank you."

The ceremony over, John slowly walked across the pier and stared out over the ocean, it's glassy surface capturing the last rays of the setting sun. He squinted, enraptured by the sunset.

"John?"

He turned, smiling at Weir. "Nice words."

She smiled back. "Thank you. High praise, considering you didn't hear half of them." She arched an eyebrow knowingly at him.

John's eyes widened. "What makes you say that?"

Weir's other eyebrow joined the first one. "About halfway through my speech, you looked a million miles away."

John had the decency to flush slightly. There was no way out of this one, and he knew it. "Sorry."

Elizabeth walked up next to him, her hands gently settling on the railing. She took a long moment to look over the ocean, before she smiled at him. "It's okay. Where were you?"

John chuckled and leaned back on the railing. "Lost in thought."

Weir shrugged, a knowing expression crossing her face. "Thought so. Funerals have that effect."

John nodded. He sighed and stared out over the dissipating crowd. "We lost some good people along the way, Elizabeth." When she didn't say anything for a long moment, John looked over at her. Elizabeth's face was neutral, the setting sun's rays giving her complexion a flushed glow. "Elizabeth?"

She pursed her lips, cocked her head and looked over at him. Her gaze narrowed. "Yes, we have, John." Tapping her hands a couple times on the railing, Elizabeth stepped back, faced him and crossed her arms. "We've also saved some good people. Look around you. We've saved a lot more than we've lost."

John looked up, his gaze traveling over the tall towers of Atlantis. Slowly…tentatively a smile started on his face. It took hold and grew in confidence. John looked over at her and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess we have."

Weir grinned and tapped him lightly on the forearm. "Come on, Major. We have a city to run."

John watched her as she walked away. Ever the optimist, in one succinct sentence, she'd reminded John of the good things. He never considered himself a pessimist, but lately, it had been hard not to be. Once again, he glanced around the city and chuckled. Yeah, we do have a lot to be grateful for. Pushing away from the railing, he followed after Weir.

Author's Notes:

Ever since I saw Siege I and II, I've been kicking around this idea. I thought that while whatever effects or remains they had of the fallen expedition members would be sent back to their families on Earth, some sort of remembrance on Atlantis would be appropriate, and probably done. I held onto this idea, thinking that maybe TPTB would address this issue in the start of season 2. They didn't…so I did. ;)

My thanks to MD for poking my muse for more…AGAIN :D Also, thanks to MG and Sandy for pushing me along and their encouragement to help me finish this piece.

SGAFan