John Sheppard bolted upright, trying to catch his breath. The feel of the cold hand on his chest lingered on the fringes of his mind; the look of the Wraith's face as it hovered, draining the life from him.
He ran a hand over his chest, nudging his dog tags; wincing as the hair caught in the chain. There was nothing there—no indentation, no scar as a physical reminder of what had happened. The Wraith had given him everything back, and then some—but it couldn't erase the feeling of being helpless and trapped as the life flowed out of him.
John had never really questioned what he'd done to Colonel Sumner the first time they'd encountered the Wraith, but there was always a part of him that wondered whether he'd made a fair choice.
He knew now he had.
There would be no sleep now. No rest ever came after those dreams. He pulled himself from bed, reaching for a discarded t-shirt and sweatpants.
Atlantis was silent around him; the halls quietly patrolled by the marines who worked the night shift. They nodded acknowledgement to him but didn't move to do more. Expedition Heads wandering the halls at all hours was nothing new to them.
It took him a few minutes to reach the gateroom. He enjoyed the solitude of the slow walk; everything seemed quieter at night, though there was no reason to be. Life didn't stop when the sun went down; neither did the Wraith, or the replicators, or the fear of what lay in the dark. But the expedition needed a rest, he supposed, as many of the expedition members did. At least some semblance of calm would allow the city to slumber like the rest of them.
Most of them.
Technicians ghosted around the upper control room; he moved swiftly past the gate dais and up the stairs, keeping close to the shadows. No one would think much of his being awake, but he still felt edgy and not up to conversation.
The balcony doors slid open silently and he shivered as the wind blew across his neck, chilling the sweat that lightly coated his skin. His t-shirt did little out here and provided only a modicum of protection against the cold.
The darkness outside wasn't complete; the sky was peppered with stars whose numbers were rivaled only by those visible in the remote skies of Antarctica. He remembered how clear they'd seemed to him down there in comparison with the skies over Earth's artificially lit cities.
Now, a different galaxy's star systems sparkled before him, just as coldly beautiful as those in the Milky Way, but far more strange, and, for him at least, a little more deadly. Even the familiar sight of the moon, looking little different from Earth's, brought him no comfort. Darkness hid many things, but it could not dim the memories.
He sighed. He'd hoped the balcony would ease his mind, but his thoughts swirled, dancing back in the direction of the Wraith's pale green face; of the yellow eyes that had blazed madly with hunger even as he withdrew, ending the blinding pain. That was half the nightmare, the knowledge that, even as it ended, it could begin again. It could happen again. He had let it. Because the Wraith had spared him, he had spared it, and yet the pain that he'd felt would be felt by another human because he'd made the choice to let it go.
The Wraith would feed again and despite all its proselytizing about having to survive, the cold fact was the next time it laid its hand on someone's chest it would take the life from them.
And John had let it.
He shivered; shucked at some of the sweat still lining his arms. It was chilly. John moved back to the door, feeling defeated.
The gateroom seemed blinding compared the smooth blackness outside. He paused for a moment at the landing, letting his eyes adjust.
There was only minimal staff manning the gate controls; most were taking their rest, as he should have been. As his vision finally cleared, he realized he wasn't the only one wandering the halls. The lights were on in Elizabeth's office; not that he should be surprised—the woman slept less than anyone he knew—but at this hour, even she should have retired.
And yet…he felt a little easier knowing she was there. There were few people who understood the weight his position placed on his shoulders, but Elizabeth was certainly one of them. She could offer comfort where no one else could; listen to his worries and sympathize with his choices. Sometimes it was enough just to be with her—never speaking a word, just co-existing with another whose mind carried the same complex struggles as his own. He appreciated that about her, more than he'd ever let her know.
As he passed the dialer, a crash sounded suddenly from the office. He exchanged a concerned look with the technician, who let him scuttle down the small balconied hallway into the glassed-in room, where Elizabeth sat at her desk, one of her small artifacts shattered on the floor beside it.
She stared, half-dazed, between him and the broken object. As he approached she rose, her eyes wide, reaching out a shaky hand. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah." He watched her worriedly, edging into the room. The rest of the staff backed away, reassured that the noise had only been their boss startled out of sleep. "Are you?"
"I…" she glanced down, noticing the remains of the pot, "…oh. Damn."
"Hazards of falling asleep on the job," he said without thinking, kneeling down to help sweep up the shards.
She smiled half-heartedly and slipped to the floor to join him. As she drew near, he noticed her paleness, the sweat glistening on her face.
"Bad dream?" he asked quietly as they shoveled the pieces into her trash container.
She met his eyes for a moment, then dropped her gaze. "Long night."
They cleaned up the rest of the mess, not saying much, which was fine with him. He did catch her studying him once or twice as they wiped down the floor, her eyes bearing a shadowed look, like she was both afraid and relieved to see him there. It unnerved him a little; Elizabeth was the stable one, the one who never seemed shaken. She'd certainly proven it during the hellish days of his capture.
From what Rodney had told him, she had not bent once during his imprisonment; even when it appeared they'd failed she'd not given up hope. John had expected that of her; known she'd be strong enough to handle Kolya.
He'd been counting on it.
As he rose a soft tap startled him, and he glanced at her. She'd laid fingers on his arm, very lightly, almost a ghost of a touch, as if checking to see if he was really standing there.
He swallowed, unsure of what to do. She met his eyes timidly, then dropped her hand, her mouth quirking into a tiny smile as she moved away.
"So," she said as she took a seat behind the desk. Her voice was jagged, rough with sleep. "You never explained why you were up this late."
"Couldn't sleep," he returned, watching her intently. She busied herself with some of the papers on her desk, sorting and shuffling with no seeming purpose. "Not really that tired."
The shuffling slowed. "Hmm."
"Yeah…" an image of the Wraith flooded his mind and he winced, rubbing his chest instinctively, though nothing remained to feel.
He caught her staring at his hand, her expression fading into a frown. He clenched his fist, forcing his arm down, and edged towards one of the chairs in her office. "What are you working on?"
"Mission reports. Major Lorne has two good leads on…"
"That wraith?" he finished.
"No," she said quickly. "You told me not to… No. This is on Kolya."
"Kolya?" He shouldn't have been surprised. Except for the fact this was the first he'd heard of it. "You've sent some of our men after Kolya?"
"Yes." She sighed, setting the papers down and clasping her hands together, watching with a patient stare.
Preparing for a fight.
He regarded her for a moment, uncertain how to react. A part of him wanted to give her what she expected; to throw around command authority and military authorization and the difference between civilian and armed forces. Another wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her; tell her he was fine and that she didn't have to do this all alone; to make her understand that problems like Kolya were the reason why he was here.
He did neither. "Were you planning on telling me at any point?"
"Yes. Of course. I just…I wanted to give you more time."
"I don't need more time," he replied softly. "I need something to do. Carson's given me a clean bill of health. And if my men are out there risking their lives to find Kolya, I want to help them."
"I know you do. But you can't do everything. Kolya is not solely your responsibility."
"Not my responsibility? After what he did…he went after me specifically, Elizabeth. "
"I'm aware of that, John…which is exactlywhy I didn't let you know I was tracking him."
He clenched his jaw. "He's not going to stop until he gets his revenge for what I did during the storm. You really think I'm going to let him put more of our people in danger because of a personal vendetta he has against me? The easiest thing to do is to let me…"
"NO!" She slapped her hand forcefully on the desk, the objects on it rattling. A few of the technicians stopped what they were doing; John shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at them with a small smile. They turned away, maybe embarrassed, maybe unconcerned.
"I won't take that risk again, Colonel," she said sharply as he turned back to her. "This isn't up for discussion."
"Like hell it isn't," he returned, leaning in towards her. "You can't keep me out of this."
"Try me," she hissed.
He watched her for a moment, her eyes blazing as she faced him. The solace he'd sought from her presence was whittling away into unease. He had the distinct sense he was hurting more by being here than if he'd just passed on.
Her hand was gripping the desk so tightly her knuckles were white.
The pale face of the wraith flashed through his mind, accompanied by images from his nightmare: the hand on his chest, the sound it made as it fed; Kolya's rotten smile.
The cadence of Elizabeth's voice, strained, as she denied Kolya's request. Knowing what would happen next. He'd been proud; glad she was as strong as he'd boasted.
There had been no thought of what that choice might do to her in the days or weeks following. Of what life would be like in the darkest hours, when nothing but solitude and memory occupied the time.
"It must have been hard," he said suddenly.
"What?" The fire died from her eyes; she blinked, as though trying to comprehend what he'd just said. That he hadn't argued back. Her grip on the desk loosened.
"Carson said you were there for everything."
"I…" Her hands trembled; she reached for the papers once more, trying to find a way to arrange an already neat stack. "How could I not be?"
He licked his lips, searching her face. His skin pulsed where her fingers had been; still tingling at the effect of her soft touch. It made sense now, why her light was on at this hour.
Why she'd looked at him like that, when she'd first seen him.
"I have a confession to make."
Elizabeth glanced over at him, confused. "What?"
"I lied. About the long night. I am tired. I just can't sleep." He made a creeping movement with his fingers. "Wraith dreams."
She bowed her head, pressing her lips together. "John…"
"It's not that bad," he hedged. "Just…doesn't make for a pleasant morning. Who wants to wake up to the vision of a slimy, white-faced guy hovering over you?"
When she looked up, her eyes were glistening. "Must be awful."
John shifted uncomfortably in the chair, not really sure what to say next. He hadn't anticipated her reaction and suddenly he was on the edge of something that felt incomprehensible. Where each word, each motion pushed him closer to the precipice.
"Have you talked to Dr. Heightmeyer about it?" she asked. Her hands reached absently for the data pad to her right; picking it up and tapping it to life. When she turned back to him her face bore a stoic expression.
He was back on solid ground.
"Some," he replied. At her questioning gaze he faked a smile. "It's required, as you know."
"Right. And what did she say?"
"That it's normal. The nightmare part, not the…you know…" he made the creeping motion with his hand again, causing her to shake her head.
"Well, if they don't subside…"
"Yeah, I know. More talks with the doc."
Her eyebrow arched; he still didn't know how she managed to make that look semi-threatening. "No holding back, Colonel. We need you back to one-hundred percent, and that includes a good night's rest."
John didn't move, just cocked his head to the side.
She pursed her lips. "We can discuss Kolya tomorrow."
He rose, flashing her a fake smile. She returned it and checked the tablet in hand again.
John turned towards the door; paused, glanced back. It didn't feel right; the dismissal was too easy. The feelings still lingered at the edge of the precipice—nothing had been resolved. And if they were there for him, they were there for her, too.
"That's not just limited to me, you know," he said softly, turning back to face her. She looked up at him with an inquisitive smile, surprised, perhaps, that he'd not gone on as he normally would. "That goes for you, too."
"You mean Kolya?"
"Kate."
Her smiled faded. "I'm fine."
"There are twenty or so pieces of pottery in your trash can that seem to claim otherwise."
"I just…" In her expression was a lost look, like someone trying to feel their way through a fog. She raised a hand to her forehead, the dark hair sliding across her fingers. "It's been a long couple of weeks. That's all. I just need time. It'll pass. It usually does."
"No, it won't."
She met his stare with wide eyes; her hands were trembling and he knew she was wishing he would turn, and leave, as he always did. But he couldn't. Not tonight. Not when the loudest sound was the ticking of her watch and the lights of Atlantis were the only ones, beyond the stars, to offer warmth to the night.
He edged back towards her, tilting his head to the side. "I've been there before. I know what you're going through."
Her laugh sounded strange against the quiet of the room. "John…"
"I can still hear Sumner's voice. I still remember Ford's face. Kolya, when…" John stopped; something about stepping across that line, off the precipice. He still couldn't admit the worst nightmares came at the hands of Kolya—and not because of the Wraith. "I know how it can get. You hear them screaming over and over in your head, see them when you shut your eyes. You can't get away from them. You blame yourself for it. But it's not your fault."
"I really am just tired." She rose swiftly, gathering her stuff together, making a show of being done for the evening, tossing him a gentle smile. "I should try to get some sleep."
"I didn't die, Elizabeth." As she moved past him he grabbed her arm, held her still. "You didn't sentence me to death and you didn't get me killed. "
She didn't fight him; her arm went limp in his hand and she pressed her lips together, head bent. He leaned closer to her ear. "I'm still here."
There was a muffled sound, something between a sob and a sigh. She shuddered, shifting her arm, but he didn't release her.
"I'm still here."
The objects in her arms tumbled to the floor; data pad shattering on impact, papers dancing around them in a flurry. John stiffened as she slid her arm around his neck, her head coming to rest against his shoulder, her face turned away from him. His hand was still on her arm; he patted it awkwardly as she shook against him.
There was a dim awareness of the silence around them; the technicians had stopped what they were doing, either looking away or fled in embarrassment. It was vaguely unnerving and yet, somehow, exactly what he needed. He relaxed, letting his head fall against hers, taking in the soft scent of regulation shampoo and the sea air that still lingered in her hair from her visits to the balcony.
She stopped shaking after a moment and released him, her arm sliding slowly from his neck. He swallowed as she moved away, still not looking towards him, not quite sure what to do.
When she finally turned, the tears were gone, and John knew he wouldn't have to speak of what just happened. A part of him was relieved; but something inside him ached, too. The moment would disappear, as so many others, into the dark memories of an empty night.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He couldn't offer more return than an awkward half smile and he felt guilty about it; she met his gaze for a moment then glanced down at the remains of her datapad and papers. There was a slight flush at the base of her neck and he struggled to find something to say that would bring them back to solid ground again.
"Why don't you worry about that in the morning?" he said finally, as she nudged the scattered pieces. "It's not going anywhere. I'm no computer person but I'd pretty much guess it's not fixable."
She laughed, a sort of half-chuckle mixed with a sigh. "I'm going to get an earful from Rodney. That's the third one of these broken in a month."
"Well, he jammed two P-90s on our last mission, so I consider it payback."
"So that's what happened." Elizabeth rose, looking more like herself; the only trace of the events of last few minutes a slight ruddiness to her cheeks. "I'll have to keep that in mind."
"I always do. Fact, I've got a running list."
"That's one of the things I like about you," she replied, sniffling a little. "Always so detail oriented."
Solid ground.
"That's me." He grinned. "What do you say we head down to the mess for a late night snack?"
"At this hour?"
"Were you planning on getting some more shut-eye?"
"Probably not."
"Then let's enjoy the solitude and raid the pantry."
Elizabeth hesitated, looking uncertain. His better judgment warned him against doing anything that might upset the careful balance they'd just strolled into.
Careful, but not normal. Nothing felt normal this night. And careful didn't overshadow the fears that would remain when morning came, nor the sense that, even when everything was right again, it was not the same.
He extended his hand.
She eyed the gesture for a moment; a curled fist to her lips, then looked at him. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring glance.
Elizabeth reached out and took his hand. Hers was warm and soft—a testament to the life that flowed through her; the humanity that occupied her every movement, every choice.
He squeezed her fingers, a secondary assurance that despite her doubts and fears, those choices were the right ones to make. His being here, standing beside her even in the darkest hours, was proof of that.
She returned the squeeze and he suddenly felt settled— the kind of calm he'd sought when he first left the confines of his room and the nightmares that haunted them. He knew no one gesture would ease his mind enough to leave them behind; they would come again, some fiercer, some more real than before, some less.
But he couldn't dwell on them anymore. He had to move past; past the memories of what had happened to him and of what remained out there in the night. Because others needed him more than he'd realized; others were haunted by dreams and nightmares just as paralyzing, only more frightening, and with deeper consequences.
He'd been there, understanding the horror of what they faced; the knowledge that their actions had led to the loss of something precious and irreplaceable. And long after the memories of personal pain, of the frightening faces and cold hands and wicked smiles faded into the darkness, those memories remained.
The final promise of a comrade lost into space. The image of a soldier taken in battle. The reality of a teammate running for his life.
The sound of Kolya's voice, taunting an unnecessary and purposeful death.
Those images never faded. They were the living nightmares that overshadowed waking moments; that were always present; settling on the mind in the dark when no one was there to pull you back to the light.
He couldn't save Elizabeth from her nightmares; but he could be there for her as she was there for him. And that was, perhaps, the greater solace than what he'd sought initially—not the pretense of having things be bearable, but the sense that, together, they could make it that way if they tried.
Or—maybe—they could make it better.
There was a subtle thrumming on the gate room floor; the morning contingent of marines was marching into the Tower to relieve the night command. Dial-up procedures would start in a few hours and Rodney McKay would snark his way into the control room, being generally unpleasant until his third mid-morning cup of coffee.
John sighed. Elizabeth squeezed his hand once more; he returned the gesture with a smile and pulled her forward, over the mess on the floor.
The night would probably pass without sleep—it would be better for both of them that way, he imagined—but it wouldn't pass without comfort. And perhaps, when the darkness came again, the fear would be a little less, the memories a little dimmer.
Even if they weren't, what remained was the solace of knowing that they were not alone; that comfort existed where it could be touched. In a warm hand; a soft smile; a beating heart. Wherever they were going didn't really matter to him; they would pass through the dark hours together until the light came again.