A/N: This was written for Round 3 of the Last Fiction Writer Standing #3 challenge at LiveJournal's sga_lfws. The prompt required that the story be related to the word 'dark'. It had to have have at least one member of the team and had to contain either H/C or angst, or both.
The Darkness Did Not Prevail
John bolted upright in his bed. His feet kicked frantically at the tangle of blankets binding his legs while his hands scrabbled for his P-90, his sidearm, something, anything…
Sucking in ragged breaths, he hunched forward, trying to relieve the pressure of his heart hammering against his ribcage and the nausea churning in his gut.
On! On! John's mind urged Atlantis to raise the lights in his room. The lights chased away the shadows of nightmares and banished the echoes of screams. But the darkness inside remained.
John wasn't surprised by a knock on his door. He didn't need to ask who was there at this hour. Without waiting for invitation, Rodney scurried in, pale and disheveled, and clutching his laptop like a security blanket.
"Did you know the inhabitants of M3R-926 will negotiate a trade only during the harvest season? Planting season discussions — definitely out. Also on M5X-348, there is an interesting phenomenon that makes the moon appear as though…" Rodney rambled on.
John hadn't had a conversation with his friend since the mission. Not really. All Rodney had done since then was spout facts and figures.
Swinging his legs off the bed, John leaned forward, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes, against pain that couldn't be touched.
When John lifted his head, Rodney was seated at the desk, the keys of his laptop clacking, dredging up irrelevant data, losing himself in knowledge which couldn't change the mistake they had made. The glow of the screen illuminated Rodney's face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes, a sign to John of the blackness within that was claiming the scientist's mind.
Teyla didn't need to knock. John had left the door open after Rodney's arrival. The team needed the lights and sounds of the city beyond, a reminder that life hadn't stopped.
"Torren sleeps peacefully in Kanaan's arms. But there are times when I cannot bear…" Teyla bit her lip and stared out the window at the night sky.
Cannot bear to look upon what others lost that day. John heard her unspoken words. And he saw the bleakness that pooled in the depths of her soul, spill over and course down her cheeks.
The slightly unsteady shuffle of Ronon's feet and the glassiness in his eyes spoke of an earlier visit to Zelenka's still. "Melena loved the little ones." Ronon slammed his casted fist against the wall before sprawling on John's sofa.
John didn't need to tell him that the drink couldn't ease the knife in his heart from the accident that they had caused.
Lorne stopped in the doorway of John's quarters. "Evening, sir."
"Major Lorne. Night patrol…in this section…again?" John's voice came out rough.
"Yes, sir."
"It's…not necessary."
"What's necessary and what's needed are not the same."
John glanced at his shattered team and nodded.
"There are plenty of spare blankets and pillows in the supply closet tonight." Lorne gestured down the hall.
"I want my gear, too. I…I want my sidearm back." John hung his head, embarrassed by his own desperation.
"You'll get them back, sir, but not tonight."
John scrubbed a shaky hand over the back of his hair and looked up at Lorne. "In the dark…I can still hear the children screaming. I need something to… I need… I…"
"You and your team need to heal. I'll watch over our city while you do. I'll make sure you have what you need. And I'll keep your lights on at night." Lorne's eyes held John's steadily.
The strength in Lorne's eyes gave John hope they'd survive. And the darkness did not prevail.
The End